


this is how it starts, lightening strikes the heart.

by justaboat



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-17 11:55:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 52,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2308796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaboat/pseuds/justaboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn doesn't want to date niall (except that he kinda does), niall has a secret, louis is a little shit, and harry and liam are the roommates that give (mostly) bad advice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this is how it starts, lightening strikes the heart.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Holdmeclosedarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holdmeclosedarling/gifts).



> IT'S FINISHED. IT'S SO LONG AND IT TOOK FOREVER, BUT IT'S FINISHED. i hope you like it darling!!!!
> 
> big thanks to leighanne for beta-ing and putting up with me crying to her via whatsapp at three or four in the morning. you are the true love of my life.
> 
> also kiwi, amber, tashie, blake, hannah and layla for being the loves of my life and helping me/talking things out/planning scenes with me. couldn't have done it without you all.

The car’s waiting for him outside by the time he’s got his bags in the front hallway, the rest of the house feeling quiet as he hears his mother’s voice from the kitchen, talking on the phone to someone he doesn’t know.

“So you have everything?” his dad asks, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He nods, slowly, glancing at all the bags and thinking that — hey, this is my entire life, right here, in the front of the house. It’s a bit daunting to think of, really, now that he’s here, everything else outside the door. And for a moment he considers taking it all back, unpacking his bags but he’s already made up his mind, there’s no backing out of it now.

“Your mum’s just finishing up a phone call then we’ll be on our way to the airport, alright?” his dad says, opening the door to let some men inside to help with his bags.

If he stays here any longer he’s going to find some reason to change his mind, so instead he reaches down — picks up one of his bags, and just like that, he’s going.

He’s really, actually, going.

 

— 

 

The thing about New York is that the winters feel like they’re neverending; each time the snow looks like it’s near melting another storm comes and the streets are white again. It wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t mean Zayn wasn’t so fucking cold all the time, shivering underneath his layers and huddled in front of their small space heater at his apartment — because no matter how much Liam insists he’s turned up the heating, Zayn still finds himself always cold, somehow. 

Maybe Louis is right, maybe he just wasn’t built for winter weather. But right now, it’s not so bad, because he’s at work. And with all the moving and serving people leave his cheeks flushed and a little out of breath, so he doesn’t have the time to be cold when it’s a Friday night and it’s busy like this.

They’ve just gone through one of the dinner rushes and the restaurant’s quiet for the most part, thankfully, giving Zayn some time to do little tasks that make closing easier. Things like putting cutlery away, wiping down counters and menus, and making sure the drink station is all clean. Right now he’s wiping menus, glad to have at least a few minutes to himself. It’s almost ten, which means he’s got a little less than an hour left.

“Zayn, did you forget coffee for table three?” comes Louis’ voice, as he nudges Zayn’s hip with his own.

Zayn’s head snaps up as he’s wiping menus, blinking once before, “shit, fuck, yes I did —”

“Already took care of it, don’t blow your head off,” Louis stops him, holding up a hand as Zayn rolls his eyes. 

“Thanks,” Zayn mutters, putting the stack of menus down. “Should go check on table eleven, while I’m at it.”

Louis shakes his head. “Already got them their bill, and they left the cash on the table so I took it while I was getting drinks for that family that just came in,” he says simply.

Zayn gives him a small, grateful smile — before he hears the bell on the door, nearly soliciting a groan from him. He shakes his head.

“We’re almost done, don’t go losing it on me now, alright?” Louis says, patting his back encouragingly.

Zayn watches him go, running a hand through his hair as he finishes up the menus. It’s been like this ever since he got back from Christmas break, like he can’t seem to get his head on straight. Instead he finds himself wishing he was somewhere else; home, probably, where he was just last week for the break.

Being home had been nice at least, and most nights Zayn found himself curled up in front of the fire — usually with Doniya sitting beside him, tapping away on her phone with her head resting on his shoulder. From the kitchen he could always hear Waliyha helping his mom with dinner, continually asking if she could get a phone for her birthday this year, since she’s “turning sixteen and is old enough for one”, to which Zayn would always listen to his mother reply that she would think about it.

Sometime after dinner Safaa would wander into the living room and curl up beside Zayn, tucking herself underneath his blanket while he was reading a textbook for whatever class he needed to read up on before the semester started.

“Read to me, Zaynie?” she would ask quietly, tugging his sleeve insistently. 

“You wouldn’t like this,” Zayn told her, smiling a little as she frowned at him in response. “It’s science.”

“What kind of science?” Safaa would ask, because she’s always been nosey.

“Anatomy,” Zayn would answer, and that would usually be the end of that line of questioning on Safaa’s part. 

Half the time she would fall asleep beside him, head in Zayn’s lap while he highlighted parts of his book — before being carried off to bed by his mother, stroking his sister’s head and whispering I love yous down the hallway and into her bedroom.

“You’re on holiday, Zayn,” she would tell him when she walked back into the living room, a pointed look on her face.

“Pre-Med students don’t get a holiday, _mom_ ,” Zayn replied, nearly laughing at the look she gave him instead of an answer. 

She wouldn’t argue, instead leaving him tea and some food on a plate before she went off to bed. But now he’s back at school, and at work without the comforts of being back home — without any of it, feeling as though he’s being bogged down with all the things he has to do. It feels as though he barely has time to breathe.

He glances up from where he’s been putting away some clean dishes, wiping the excess water onto his apron, watching Louis chatting away with the family that just came in. It comes so effortlessly to him, Zayn thinks, watching the way he talks so easily with them — even getting their little girl to laugh from her high chair, looking up at Louis with big, wide eyes that follow his every move. 

“Need a few waters and a coffee,” Louis says as he approaches Zayn again, his pencil for writing orders tucked behind his ear. 

“Order’s up for fifteen,” comes a voice from the kitchen.

“You know, Grimshaw,” Louis starts. Zayn shakes his head, knowing no good can come from this. “If you didn’t take ten years to finish making people’s food then the service around here could go a lot quicker, don’t you think?”

There’s a grunt. Then, “fuck off, Louis. Go do your _job_ ; or are you going to sit around complaining to me all day?”

“I suppose I’ll do my job, but that doesn’t mean you’ll do yours now, does it?” Louis asks, grinning at Zayn once before taking a few menus — a group of people walking through the door as he goes to greet them. “I got them, go deliver those drinks, yeah?”

Zayn nods, taking the waters and coffee to the small family, setting them out in front of the members carefully. For a brief moment, he considers crawling into the dishwasher, but decides against it when he sees the rush that’s just come through the door. Another time, then, he tells himself before going to refill some more coffee cups.

— 

“Did I tell you I’ve got a new roommate?”

It’s nearly eleven at night now and Louis and Zayn are walking home from their shift. Zayn shakes his head, exhaling a puff of smoke from his cigarette. Louis does the same, keeping in step beside him, the sound of the snow crunching beneath both their weight. 

“Who is it?” Zayn asks, raising an eyebrow.

“His name’s Niall,” Louis says. “I grew up with him, haven’t I told you this before?”

Zayn shakes his head. “Don’t think you have, actually,” he says slowly after a moment.

He’s fucking freezing, and holding this cigarette between his fingers isn’t helping any. Louis looks at him before kicking at a small pile of snow, shrugging.

“He’s pretty cool,” Louis continues, “grew up with him back home, and he’s transferred to our school — and since Aiden left last semester, it made sense he lived with me.”

Zayn nods. He doesn’t ask about Aiden, instead waiting for Louis to speak up again. “Think you’d like him, though,” Louis adds finally.

“Why do you say that?” Zayn asks, tossing the end of his cigarette into a trash bin as they walk by it. 

“Dunno,” Louis replies, “just got a feeling, I guess.”

Zayn doesn’t push it, instead shoves his hands into his coat pockets as he takes in a deep breath. “Little busy to go around meeting new people,” he says, watching as Louis rolls his eyes beside him.

Louis snorts, pushing his shoulder lightly. “Always so dramatic, aren’t you?” he asks as they approach Zayn’s building.

“You coming up?” Zayn asks, getting out his key. 

“Think so, yeah,” Louis says, shivering slightly. 

“Don’t you have a new, exciting roommate to get home to?” Zayn asks, grinning as Louis scoffs.

“Fuck off, Malik,” Louis snaps, stepping inside before him, away from the cold as the door closes behind them. “I haven’t seen Harry in almost a week, I’ve nearly forgotten what he looks like.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, unlocking the door to the apartment as he steps inside. Immediately he smells dinner, or something he assumes to be dinner, as Liam’s voice comes from the kitchen, “Survived your shift, did you? Even after all that complaining?”

“We have company, _Liam_ ,” Zayn says, trying to sound firm.

“Oh? Who is it?” Liam asks, voice still carrying from the next room.

“Dunno, someone who followed me all the way from the restaurant. Kind of annoying. Wouldn’t stop talking,” Zayn says, dropping his bag onto the ground as Louis kicks at his shin.

“You’re such a dick sometimes, you know that?” Louis tells him before stalking into the kitchen. “Got any food there for me, Payno?” followed by Liam’s, “not for the likes of you.”

Zayn smirks, taking out his notebook and a few textbooks, and sits onto the couch — pulling up his laptop from where he’d left it on the coffee table before his shift. The smell of coffee and stale bread lingers on his shirt as he rubs at his eyes. Eventually he hears Harry’s voice coming from the hallway, sounding tired as though he’s just woken up from a nap, which wouldn’t surprise Zayn all that much.

He hears the three of them bickering from the kitchen, not really listening that intently until he hears Harry’s voice from the doorway.

“We’re getting pizza, do you want any?” he asks, leaning against the doorway — looking at Zayn expectantly.

“I’m alright,” Zayn tells him, shaking his head. “Think I might go to bed early.”

Harry makes a face, and then Louis is there — taking a step into the living room, pulling Harry’s hat off his head as he goes. “Before you go,” Louis starts, going to sit beside Zayn on the couch. “I have a favour to ask of you.”

Zayn narrows his eyes, closing his computer as he piles his books on top of it. “What do you want, then,” he asks.

“You don’t have to make it sound like I’m a criminal,” Louis says. Harry laughs from the other side of the room where him and Liam are deciding on a movie to watch, judging by the way they’re hunched over their stack of dvds. 

“Do you still have that blonde hair dye from a few weeks back? When you went through that —” Louis pauses, flicking the front part of Zayn’s quiff that’s fallen across his forehead. “Hair phase of yours?”

Zayn bats his hand away, sighing. “Think so, yeah. Lemme check,” he says, taking a few steps into his bedroom, just off the living room. 

He steps into his room, turning on the light and ignoring the mess. He’s got papers and books scattered everywhere, along with some clothes and, fuck, he needs to do laundry soon. 

It takes him a few minutes, Louis’ whining from the living room coming through his door until he finds the old bottle of hair dye — tucked on top of his dresser, underneath a bunch of his old sketches, the lines blurred and drawn together. He takes a sweater on his way back into the next room.

“Here,” he says, tossing the bottle to Louis.

Louis examines it for a moment, almost as if he’s never seen a bottle of dye before. He turns back to Zayn, looking rather pleased with himself for whatever reason Zayn doesn’t want to know. 

“Thank you kindly,” Louis says, as Zayn comes to sit beside him. 

Harry and Liam finally pick a movie, Harry coming to sit beside Zayn, Liam on his other side as the four of them all sit on the couch — they never fit all that well but none of them have seemed to notice or care over the years. They’re always squishing in despite the lack of space.

Zayn dozes off eventually, his face in Louis’ hair and making a point of not thinking of all the shit he has to do tomorrow.

— 

It’s half past eleven at night about a week later, when his phone goes off. Zayn doesn’t even hear it at first, too busy staring at his paper he’s barely started — trying to figure out a good introduction paragraph when he hears it buzzing from somewhere on his desk.

He curses, quietly, moving a few things out of the way as he tries to find it — though, really, there’s only one person that calls him regularly beside his mother, and she’s asleep by now, considering it’s almost one in the morning.

“Hello?” Zayn answers, unlocking his screen as he leans back in his chair.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Louis responds immediately. 

“I have a paper due,” Zayn says, turning to his textbook as he thumbs over the highlighted bits. 

“Not an excuse for ignoring me. Even Liam’s been complaining he hardly sees you anymore,” Louis says.

Zayn closes his eyes for a moment, his head beginning to pound. He takes in a deep breath. “Is there a reason you called me then? Your apartment caught fire? You ran out of toilet paper and desperately need one of us to run some over?”

“Shut up, that was _one fucking time_ ,” Louis snaps. There’s the sound of a voice Zayn doesn’t recognize, then, asking something like — “are you sure you know what you’re doing.”

“Yes, I know what I’m doing,” Louis insists, though even from where Zayn’s sitting, it’s not convincing.

“Who’s that?” Zayn asks.

“Niall,” Louis answers. “For fuck’s sake, stop _moving_ or I’m going to dye your eyebrows at this rate.”

“What the hell are you doing to Niall?” Zayn asks, more curious now as he hears a squawk from the other line.

“Using that hair dye you so graciously lent us,” Louis says.

“I didn’t lend it,” Zayn says. “I don’t want it back. Please don’t give it back to me.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back to the blonde streak? It was dashing. Or, that’s what Harry used to say about it anyway. I think,” Louis says.

Zayn groans, rubbing a hand along his face. “I’m hanging up on you now,” he says.

“Wait! Wait, hang on a second —” Louis says. There’s a sound of someone moving, a muffled string of curse words until, “shit, Niall, I’m going to get it in your fucking ear. If you could just sit still — _Christ_ , you’re as bad as my sisters,” followed by a, “fuck off, Lou, it’s fucking burning my entire head, feels like it’s going to fall off.”

“Are you sure this is a good time? I can call back,” Zayn says, nearly laughing when he hears Louis swear again, this time more loud.

“No, no, shit, it’s fine —” Louis says quickly. “I was just thinking we could go out for drinks this weekend? You’re off work, before you go using that as an excuse — and I reckon you can get away from your papers for a few hours, at least.”

Zayn chews his lower lip, considering. His list of excuses is rather low, and he wouldn’t mind going out for a bit, he thinks to himself.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll come,” he says after a few moments.

“Perfect,” Louis says. “Niall’s coming too, so you can finally meet him.”

“If he survives whatever torture you’re putting him through now,” Zayn says, hearing Louis scoff in response.

“Fuck off, he’ll live,” Louis says. “Oh, for God’s sake, Niall!”

“What, what is it?” Zayn asks, sitting up a bit now.

“Nothing —” Louis says quickly, followed by the sound of someone moving around. “He just spilled the dye, it’s fine, just a huge fucking mess — gotta go, love you, see you this weekend!” Louis says cheerfully before hanging up.

Zayn locks his phone again and puts it onto his desk. He stretches out his arms slowly as he looks at his computer. So far, all he’s got to show for his paper is a title page and a half page of notes. So, not much, at this rate.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he stares at his computer screen blankly. He should sleep, probably, but he doesn't feel tired yet — instead pushing himself away from his desk as he slowly stands. There's a plate of noodles and half a piece of garlic bread on his desk, still there from when Liam had attempted to get Zayn to eat a few hours ago. 

Gingerly he picks up the plate, opening his door and wincing at the light already on as he makes his way into the kitchen. He spots Harry on the couch, feet resting on the table in front of him as Zayn turns on the hot water tap to start washing his dishes.

The water's nice and warm, heating up his fingers which are still slightly cold from sitting in front of his computer for so long. Outside he can hear the cars, along with the occasional honk of a horn despite the early hour. He puts his dishes onto the drying rack, leaving them there to put away in the morning as he steps back into the living room. 

Harry's still there, his phone and remote on his stomach as Zayn moves to sit beside him. 

"How's the paper?" Harry asks, tilting his head to grin properly up at Zayn. 

"Shit," Zayn responds, yawning into the back of his hand. "Anything good on?" he asks, looking toward the television. 

Harry shakes his head, frowning. "Not a thing," he answers. 

When the episode of Friends is over, Harry leaves the station on, the news coming on next as Zayn rubs his eyes. There's a segment on weather — a cold front apparently moving in, which isn't that big of a surprise considering it's fucking winter but, whatever, Zayn doesn't consider himself a weatherman or anything. 

"Now if you're looking for a bit of royal gossip — we've got just the thing," the news woman starts, her eyes wide as she looks into the camera. "And it concerns the young Prince James, second in line to the Irish throne."

Zayn's brows furrow. "Who's that then?" he asks. 

Harry shrugs, looking about as confused as Zayn feels. "Dunno," he says simply. 

" — The young prince, who over the past year we have seen little of while off farming in the middle of what’s said to be the Australian outback, is said to be going to school in the fall. Which, while ambitious, is perhaps a bit odd, considering that it's been rumoured James is looking to attend school in America, of all places," the news woman continues. "So, just think — this year you could be going to school with the Prince of Ireland himself."

Zayn snorts, shaking his head. "Must be nice," he says after a moment. 

Harry looks at him. "What must be nice?" he asks. 

"Going somewhere, not having anyone know you," Zayn says after a moment. "Like you get to start over."

Harry hums in agreement from where he’s nestled into Zayn's side comfortably. "Would be nice. For a bit, maybe," he says slowly. 

"A bit?" Zayn asks. 

"Might get lonely, I don't know," Harry says after a pause. 

Zayn nods, once, before looking out the window in the living room. It's snowing, the flakes big and white as he presses a kiss to the top of Harry's curls before walking back into his room — closing his laptop and falling onto his bed, finding himself drifting off to sleep with a small bit of jealousy for Prince James Horan as he does. 

— 

Friday night comes a lot faster than Zayn was expecting. Before he knows it he’s almost done his shift at work, training a new kid as he leans against the desk, putting a bunch of receipts together in a pile. 

“So you think you got it?” Zayn asks.

The boy, Calum, stares at him with wide eyes — as if he’s not only trying to convince Zayn, but also himself that he does, in fact, ‘get it’. Instead he mostly looks terrified, which makes sense, considering how busy it’s been this afternoon. Zayn yawns into the back of his hand, shifting a little as he ties a band around the papers carefully. 

“Think so. Maybe,” Calum says finally, following Zayn to where the cutlery is kept.

“It’s gonna be quiet for a little while — so just check on the tables you have and wrap the utensils into napkins,” Zayn instructs, handing him a fork, spoon, and knife. “And if you have any questions, Perrie’s around, and Nick’s in the back.”

“Don’t talk to Nick, he’s very busy making impatient customers their food,” Nick says from the small window looking into the kitchen.

“Also, feel free to tell Nick to fuck off,” Zayn says, laughing when he hears a “hey!” in response.

“Sure, alright,” Calum says, forcing a small smile. 

With ten minutes left on his shift Zayn busies himself with a few things, but he pauses when he glances up to see Calum looking at the door — his eyes lingering on two boys that just walked in.

“Do you know them?” Zayn asks.

Calum looks as though he could jump out of his skin at any moment. He glances at Zayn as he shakes his head quickly. “No, no, I don’t,” he says.

“Think someone’s got a crush,” Perrie sing-songs as she passes them by, pinching Calum’s cheek briefly. “Why don’t you and Zayn go get their orders started and I can take over when you leave?” she asks, looking at Zayn.

Zayn nods, picking up a few menu’s and handing them to Calum as they walk to the table — though at the slow pace Calum’s walking Zayn might have to drag him all the way to table sixteen, it feels like.

When they reach the table the boys look up at Calum expectantly. Calum blinks — and it’s not until Zayn coughs, loudly, that he finally snaps out of whatever thoughts he’s seemingly lost in.

“Right, um, hi — welcome to Danny’s Diner, I’ll be your waiter — Calum,” he begins, handing out the menus. “Can I get you anything to drink to start off with?”

They both order waters, which is pretty standard. He’s about to turn away when one of the boys, one without a ridiculous bandana in his hair, looks at Calum.

“Don’t I know you?” he asks.

Calum stiffens, cheeks flushing rather noticeably. “Yeah, I um — think we have a class together? I go to NYU, so.”

Immediately the other boy’s eyes widen in recognition. “Shit, you’re in my English class, aren’t you? You read that poem you wrote,” he says. Calum nods, not saying anything. “That was a really fucking good poem.”

“Right, yeah — thank you,” Calum manages to get out before he takes a step back, nearly walking straight into Zayn. “I’ll just — get your waters, then.”

“I’m Luke,” the guy introduces himself. “And this is my dorm mate, Ashton. We have another guy coming, Michael — but he’s gonna be a little late.”

“Calum,” Calum says again, apparently having forgotten he’d said his name just moments ago before taking their drink order. “I’ll be right back.”

Zayn has to force himself to bite back his laughter as he watches Calum practically stumble to the drink station, cheeks still flushed as he gets out two cups.

“Are you going to make it?” Zayn asks, trying not to sound so fucking amused by all this.

Calum nods, but he looks like he’s on the verge of passing out. “I’ll be fine. Just ask Nick for help, right?”

Zayn grins, nodding. “You’re going to be just fine,” he says, rather assuredly. 

 

He takes his coat from the back room, lighting a cigarette almost the second he gets outside — inhaling it as he starts down the street. They’re all meeting at the club tonight. It’s one Zayn can’t remember the name of that Harry’s supposedly going to take them to, one that Louis said that he really wants to go and check out. 

By the time he reaches the apartment he can’t feel his hands or any other parts of his body, the air too fucking cold as he steps through the door. He brushes the snow off his shoulders, hanging up his jacket as he kicks off his boots.

“Have you seen that black button up shirt? With the grey sleeves?” Harry asks from the small doorway into the hallway to his room. He’s shirtless and it’s winter. 

Zayn makes a face at him, pausing as he turns on the kettle in the kitchen. “That’s _my_ shirt,” he says pointedly.

Harry blinks, clearly not getting why in the world Zayn would mention this, as if it’s supposed to mean something to him. “And your point is —” he trails off expectantly.

“It’s in my room, I think. Top left drawer,” Zayn tells him, because there’s no use in saying no to Harry.

He’s got to call his mom sometime tomorrow, along with doing his laundry — he makes a mental note to himself as he stirs a bit of sugar into his tea. Harry emerges from his room a few moments later, holding up the shirt he’d been looking for with a wide smile. Zayn rolls his eyes, giving Harry’s butt a quick tap as he passes by — making his way into his room.

He showers with the bit of hot water left. He rinses himself off, making sure he doesn’t smell like work anymore and then tries to find something to wear. Liam comes home in the mean time, his voice coming from the kitchen as he calls for something from Harry. 

His phone dings with a message from Louis in their group chat while he’s looking for a clean shirt.

LT: _zayn is coming, right? has anyone checked?_

LP: _Yeeeeeeaaaah he is he used all the hot wter for his showerrrrrr :((_

HS: _That’s rude, Zayn. Now we are going to have to deal with a stinky Liam tonight._

LP: _Heyyyyyyyyyyyyy_

ZM: _im sorry, i dont have any of these numbers saved, who are you ?_

LT: _oh fuck off then_

ZM: _aha :)_

He leaves his phone on his dresser, settling on a button down shirt and his boots. He manages to get something done with his hair before he steps out into the living room.

“Ready?” he calls out to Harry and Liam, whoever is listening, really.

“Ten minutes!” Harry replies from his room as Zayn shakes his head, moving to sit on the couch and scroll through his phone while he waits.

— 

As expected on a Friday night, the club they go to is absolutely packed. There’s still no sign of Louis, though he texted ten minutes ago saying they were getting a cab.

Zayn’s drinking a beer, Harry beside him — Liam ordering himself a drink as the music plays loudly, people moving past them. He needs a cigarette, Zayn thinks. He tells Harry he’ll be right back, making his way toward the door.

There’s no sign of a cab, or Louis, as he shivers a little in the cold — pulling his jacket closer as he leans against the wall. The music is still loud, ringing in his head a bit as he stands there for a few minutes, trying not to focus on how he’d rather be at home, writing this fucking paper he needs to finish.

By the time he gets back inside he spots Harry easily, sitting at one of the tables near the back, talking with Liam and Louis — and someone who Zayn assumes is Niall. He throws out his now empty beer, ordering himself another one as he approaches the small group of them slowly.

“Got one of those for me then?” Louis asks, pointing to his bottle.

Zayn rolls his eyes, leaning one of his arms against Harry’s shoulder gently. “You’ve got two legs, haven’t you?” he asks, laughing as Louis pouts toward him in response.

The boy with blonde hair, now beside Louis, looks at Zayn for a moment as Harry clears his throat, looking at Louis, until —

“Shit, right, okay so —” Louis starts, “Zayn, this is Niall. Niall, this is Zayn. All acquainted then?” he asks, looking between them.

Niall looks at Zayn, grinning as he extends a hand. Zayn blinks before accepting it, shaking it briefly before he pulls it back. “What do you say we get another round? On me?” Niall offers.

Harry grins, clapping a hand on Niall’s shoulder rather firmly. “I like him already,” he says, in that typical Harry way. Niall smiles in response.

“I’ll be right back then,” Niall says, excusing himself for a moment.

“He can stay,” Harry announces, leaning to prop his elbows up on the top of the table.

“Secretly rich, is he? A pop star under cover to go to school?” Zayn asks, looking at Louis.

Louis makes a face. “He’s not Hannah fucking Montana,” he says. “We can all afford a round of drinks, Zayn,” he adds, sounding rather defensive.

Liam barks out a laugh, Harry giving Zayn a pointed look as they wait for Niall to come back. He does a few minutes later, and Zayn accepts the beer he’s handed as he hears Harry suggest they go out onto the dance floor — Zayn being tugged along by Louis, following reluctantly. 

This goes on for a while, until another song comes on they know and eventually Zayn goes out for a smoke — coming back to find their little group dispersed across the dance floor. They stay for a while, a few hours at least until Zayn can’t feel his feet anymore and he shuffles back toward a table.

Liam soon joins him, Harry talking excitedly as he practically hangs off of Louis — rehashing all the events on the dance floor that Zayn had seen, but he doesn’t say this. Instead he listens quietly, finishing off his third beer and enjoying the warmth seemingly spreading throughout his body as he does. 

Niall joins them a little while later, his cheeks and hair sticking up in odd places, Zayn thinks as he watches him put an easy arm around Liam. “Alright, so. Where to next?” he asks, looking between the four of them.

Zayn exchanges looks with Liam, unsure. “I was just — going to head home, actually,” he says. “Gotta do some of my paper before my shift tomorrow.”

Niall blinks at him slowly. “It’s Friday,” he states, as if Zayn doesn’t know what fucking day of the week it is.

“You guys go, I’ll meet you at home,” Zayn says, slowly standing from the table.

Louis makes a noise of protest, Harry shaking his head until Niall speaks up again. “C’mon, loosen up a bit, will ya?” Niall urges, looking right at Zayn now, like this is going to magically change Zayn’s mind on the matter.

He feels backed into a corner, seeing all their expectant gazes on them as Zayn stands, pushing his stool toward the table. “Text me if you need me, yeah?” he says, giving one last wave before starting toward the door.

 

He doesn’t take a cab, instead walking the twenty or so minutes as snow starts to fall. Zayn’s angry — pissed is more the word, actually, hands balled into fists in his pockets, his mind replaying Niall’s words in his head over and over again.

Loosen up, Zayn thinks to himself somewhat bitterly. He is fucking loose, he’s just mostly fucking stressed, is the thing. Not that Niall would have any idea, it’s not like they’re particularly close or anything, considering that Zayn just fucking _met him tonight_. He knows Louis knows he’s angry, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket — mostly likely a text from Louis, or Harry, maybe, checking up on him.

But he doesn’t check. Instead he kicks at some snow, still shivering under his coat. He should’ve taken a cab; should’ve maybe even taken the fucking bus or something. It feels like it’s below freezing now.

He’s pretty sure he’s going to fucking die of hypothermia by the time he reaches his apartment, taking out his key and unlocking the door. It’s almost two in the morning and Zayn can feel it, his whole body feeling heavy — head still fuzzy from his beers as he walks into his room.

 _zaaaaaaaaayn_ is the first text from Louis he reads, unlocking his phone. _niall didn’t mean to be like that — he just wanted you to stay, that’s all._

Zayn snorts, pulling the covers over his body. _has a funny way of showing it, doesnt he ?_ he sends. 

Immediately the small typing bubble appears. Zayn waits, watching it silently. _you didn’t even give him a chance_ , Louis argues, and Zayn can clearly see the frustrated look on his face as he’s typing this out. _you just left_.

Zayn sighs. He’s too tired to deal with this. _next time, then_ he sends without bothering to check for Louis’ response. He closes his eyes, phone beside him on the bed.

— 

“You’re what then?”

Zayn looks over where Harry and Liam are sitting at a booth in the restaurant, Harry eating most of Liam’s slice of pie, though Liam hardly seems to notice.

“Tutoring,” Zayn repeats for what feels to be the millionth time in the past hour of his talking to the two of them. He’s got about half an hour of his shift left and the entire place is dead, no new customers in at least twenty minutes. Zayn puts his towel for drying dishes over his shoulder.

Harry and Liam hadn’t come home last night until a little after three, Zayn waking up to the sounds of a drunk Harry stifling his giggles unsuccessfully while the two of them tried to navigate their way toward their rooms. Now, however, they seem to be paying for it — Harry in his usual ‘hangover’ get up, face pressed into Liam’s shoulder to help hold it up.

“Why would you wanna do that,” Harry asks, voice muffled by Liam’s shirt. 

“Because then I don’t have to worry about my volunteer hours anymore,” Zayn says, pouring some more coffee into Liam’s half empty cup. 

“Right. You said that before, I think,” Harry says, smiling a little as Zayn rolls his eyes in response.

“How much did you even drink last night? Christ, you’re a mess, H,” Zayn says, pulling gently on one of Harry’s curls.

Harry moves to push Zayn’s hand away but ends up instead holding onto Zayn’s wrist lightly. “Niall just kept buying us drinks,” Harry says, shrugging. “Who am I to say no?”

“Did you have vodka?” Zayn asks.

Harry groans, then nods. Liam smirks, giving him a sympathetic pat on the head briefly. “It tasted good at the time,” Harry says, smacking his lips together loudly. “Now it just tastes like regret.”

“That’s what they say, isn’t it?” Zayn tells him before collecting their now empty pie plate. “I’m going to go do some things in the back and then I’ll be out, yeah?”

Harry and Liam both nod, apparently too tired to put up any sort of argument as Zayn makes his way into the back.

“You can go early, if you want. Got Louis and Calum working tonight so I’ll be good,” Nick says from where he’s hunched over a stack of papers, brows furrowed together and a pen between his teeth. He looks rather stressed, Zayn thinks.

“Sure. Thanks, Nick,” Zayn says, taking out his phone. He’s about to go check for his tips on the desk when the door opens and Louis walks in, hair disheveled and looking a little short on time. 

“You showed up? Amazing. With your incomprehensible texts last night I thought you were a goner for sure,” Nick comments, not even looking up where he’s working on the crossword in the daily newspaper, apparently, Zayn sees as he glances over Nick’s shoulder.

“Shut up,” Louis snaps, not even attempting to make a comeback. His voice is nearly gone, Zayn observes as he shifts where he’s standing. When Louis turns he sees Zayn staring at him, wincing as he rubs his eyes. “What do you want then,” he says. 

Zayn smirks, shrugging. “Did you have fun?” he asks. Louis scowls at him, shoving Zayn’s shoulder lightly as he goes to hang up his coat. 

“You are —” Louis starts, wrapping an apron around his torso. “The worst, honestly. I hate you. Get away from me.”

“Did you see Harry out there? Looks just about as bad as you do,” Zayn comments.

“Probably because he had a shot of basically everything last night,” Louis mumbles, running a hand through his hair. 

“And you didn’t stop him?” Zayn asks, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the wall. He soon finds his tip bag as he puts the change into his wallet. 

“You know how Harry gets when he’s drunk,” Louis says. Zayn nods in sympathy. “He’s fucking impossible.”

“Isn’t he always?” Zayn replies.

“You said it, not me,” Louis says.

Zayn bites his lower lip, tucking a cigarette behind his ear as he grabs his coat, looking once more at Louis. “Text me later, yeah? If you survive,” he says.

Louis snorts, motioning his head toward the door. “Yeah, yeah. Get out of here,” he says.

Zayn smiles a little, before going out the door and practically having to help Liam drag Harry most of the way to their apartment. 

Once home, he makes sure Harry’s taken some tylenol and water and goes back into his room to check his email before he has to finish this fucking paper.

There’s one from the head of tutoring, so he clicks that first before any of his other unread messages.

_Dear Mr. Malik,_

_Thank you for your interest in the tutoring program! We would love to have you and look forward to your work in the future with this department._

_You are currently signed up to help tutor in biology, calculus, or chemistry. We have a request for help in calculus from a student who has an availability of Monday mornings at eight, along with Thursday afternoons at three thirty, both of which fit the schedule you left with us when you applied._

_They have requested both days for tutoring, which means you will get paid for both sessions each week. If you have any conflicts, please let us know, but for now you this is your present schedule._

_Thank you again for your help and cooperation! We very much appreciate it._

_Sincerely,  
Martha Mathis,_

_Head of the Tutoring Department at NYU._

He rereads the email just to make sure he’s got the days and times right and puts them into his calendar. Monday mornings and Thursday afternoons; he’s got to tell Nick he can’t work at those times then, he thinks briefly to himself.

And without a second thought he types up an email that says he’ll be happy to take on the said student, sending it off without a second thought. Then he opens up his paper — groaning into his hands for a few moments. 

He just needs to write the third point and his conclusion, that’s _it_.

Zayn closes his eyes for a few moments, taking in a deep breath. Easier said than done.

— 

When his alarm goes off at six thirty, Zayn feels murderous. 

He turns it off quickly, burrowing his head back into his pillow as he closes his eyes. But he needs to get up — despite not having class until noon and no shifts at the diner, he has to tutor someone at eight in the fucking morning. “This is what you signed up for, you know,” Louis reminded him so kindly last night when they’d been sitting in the kitchen; Harry was baking something or other while Louis sat on the counter and ate most of the dough talking to Zayn, who had finished his paper in the mean time.

Now, however, Zayn doesn’t want to move. He would much rather go back to sleep and not have to think about anything until noon, or possibly never.

But, as it turns out, his alarm goes off again ten minutes later — apparently having predicted he would have such strong feelings about staying in bed. Zayn groans again, turning over and contemplating throwing his phone across the room. 

He doesn’t, instead standing up as he stretches out his arms — reaching for some pants and a sweater and pulling them on. It snowed last night, apparently, if the white snow on the ground is any indication. He pulls on his pair of boots as well.

There’s bread on the counter, Zayn spreading some peanut butter haphazardly onto it as he takes his bag — nearly running late as he curses under his breath. He just catches his bus, paying the fare as he sits in a seat near the back, closest to the heater.

It’s ten minutes till he gets off at his stop just in front of the school, blowing into his hands as he makes his way toward the library. Unsurprisingly the campus is pretty much empty, a few other people walking in the snow as he pulls his bag up higher onto his shoulder.

He’s still got a few minutes to spare, taking out a cigarette as he lights it, leaning against the door. After a while he hears the sound of some footsteps approaching, glancing up for a moment before he pauses — flicking the end of his cigarette briefly.

“Hey,” he says to Niall, who’s a few feet away now, looking tired and cold in his track pants and sweater — a scarf wrapped securely around his neck.

“Hi,” Niall parrots back. 

“What are you doing here so early?” Zayn asks, though it’s not like he cares, or anything. He’s still a little pissed from the other night, so what.

“Came to do some work,” Niall responds, shrugging. “You?”

“The same,” Zayn says. “Or, to tutor, actually,” he adds.

Niall nods, slowly, moving toward the door once more. “Right well, see you in there I guess,” he says.

Zayn watches him go, waving once as he throws out the end of his cigarette before opening the doors to get inside. The library is practically empty as he takes his favourite the table — the one near the back, sort of tucked away behind a wall as he opens his bags, taking out his books.

It’s here, though, that something surprising happens. As he’s opening his laptop Niall comes and sits across from him, now starting to open his bag and take out his own books as Zayn pauses, watching him.

“Niall?” he asks.

“Hm?” Niall hums, glancing up at him.

“I’m um — tutoring,” Zayn says after a moment.

Niall stares at him. “I know,” he says simply.

“That means that I’m going to be here, working with someone. On their subject,” Zayn continues. Niall doesn’t move, apparently not getting the hint.

“That’s weird because —” Niall starts, holding up a book. He looks at it, reading the words ‘Essential Calculus: Early Transcendentals’ and Zayn swears his heart nearly comes right out of his fucking throat. “I came here to meet my tutor. Mondays at eight am, and Thursdays at three thirty.”

 _Shit_.

“So I’m — tutoring you,” Zayn says slowly.

“Seems that way,” Niall responds, looking a little too smug for someone who’s about to be tutored in calculus, if you ask Zayn.

“Alright,” Zayn says, trying to pull himself the fuck together. It’s fine, it’s just Niall, it’s not a big deal. He only slightly wants to wring Niall’s smug little neck, which is, again, totally fine. Completely normal feelings for him to be having right about now. “We should get started, then.”

Niall nods, doesn’t argue as Zayn starts in on the notes he’d made up for this session, trying to ignore the annoyance sitting on his chest as he does.

— 

When Zayn gets home later Louis is on the couch in their living room with Harry, watching some baking show they’ve been obsessed with for weeks now. He doesn’t say anything, too tired and hungry as he nearly collapses in the chair beside them.

He needs a fucking nap. 

“So.” Louis starts, now looking at Zayn, his eyebrows raised knowingly.

Zayn glares at him. “Out with it then,” he says simply.

Harry clears his throat awkwardly, shifting. But Zayn just waits, hands crossed on his lap.

“How was tutoring?” Louis asks finally, when they get to a commercial break.

Zayn doesn’t move, instead narrows his eyes. “Did you — know about that?” he asks in response.

“Know about what?” Louis asks.

“That I was tutoring Niall,” Zayn continues. “You fucking knew it was him, didn’t you.”

“Alright, alright —” Harry starts, but Louis is grinning, shrugging.

“So what if I knew?” Louis is looking at him again from the couch, with one of Harry’s arms draped lazily across his shoulder. “I thought it was a good idea, you tutoring Niall. Especially after that little incident last weekend.”

“Incident?” Zayn asks, huffing out a laugh. “If by incident you mean he was a complete dick, then yeah, that’s an incident alright.”

Louis frowns, picking up one of the small pillows off the end of the couch and tossing it at Zayn, but it mostly just falls into his lap. “He wasn’t being a _dick_ ,” Louis defends. “He was just — trying to make sure you had a good time.”

“I’m sure he was,” Zayn replies sarcastically.

Harry sighs, loudly, rubbing his hands along his face as he gives Zayn another look — almost a warning. Zayn ignores it, instead watching some woman he doesn’t know try and make a pie or something he’s not really paying all that much attention to the show.

“And how did it go?” Louis asks finally.

Zayn blinks. “How did _what_ go?”

Louis looks as though he’s about ten seconds away from pushing Zayn off their pathetic little balcony where Liam stores his bike. “Tutoring, you dickface,” Louis says.

“Well, I mean,” Zayn starts. “It was fine. He’s really terrible at calculus but, I can work with it I guess.”

Harry snorts into the back of his hand, Louis elbowing his side noticeably where they’re sitting on the couch.

“Calculus isn’t easy,” Louis says.

“Isn’t it tiring? Having to defend Niall all the time? Seems like it would be tiring,” Zayn asks, but he’s grinning — and Louis is rolling his eyes.

“I’m going to burn your bedroom down,” Louis threatens.

“No, you’re not,” Zayn says as he stands, picking up his bag.

“Fine then. I’m going to take a massive piss in your bed,” Louis says.

“You better fucking not,” Zayn tells him sternly. With a final wave, he steps into his room, the sound of the television continuing as he sits down at his desk.

— 

Over the course of the next week, Zayn finds himself thinking about Niall. Not intentionally, of course, but occasionally — when he’s doing things like wiping tables at work, or walking to the bus stop, Niall will just pop into his mind.

Zayn doesn’t like it. He doesn’t even know _why_ he’s thinking about Niall, of all people. Niall, who showed up at his apartment in a fancy car to pick up Harry and Liam and take them out, inviting Zayn to “come out and have a good, calculus-free time” to which Zayn had promptly said no, and gone his way upstairs. Niall, who isn’t seeming to get any better at Calculus, no matter how many times Zayn goes over formulas with him. Niall, who is, right now, sitting inside the restaurant and talking to Calum, of all people.

Zayn pauses, nearly dropping the stack of clean cups he’s holding as he stares at them for a few moments. Behind him, he hears someone cough as he turns around.

“Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Jesy says, eyes wide as she holds up a hand. “I just — need a cup, if you don’t mind.”

“Right, sure, yeah — fuck, sorry,” Zayn says, putting them down so Jesy can take a few from the stack.

“It’s fine,” Jesy says, smirking a little. “Do you — know him? He was asking if you were working today,” she asks, motioning her head toward Niall.

Zayn feels his cheeks flush. Why are his cheeks flushing? He needs to calm the fuck down, is what he needs to do. “Kind of, I guess. He’s friends with Louis,” he answers.

“He’s hot,” Jesy says.

Zayn makes a face. “He’s alright, I guess.”

“Nelson, stop ogling my customers and get back to work, yeah?” Nick’s voice comes, his head popping up from the small window into the kitchens.

“I wasn’t _ogling_ , Nick,” Jesy says before taking her drinks and walking back to her table.

Zayn can see Nick smirking from the window as he piles some menus, taking his notepad as he goes to take the order from the couple at table five — both ordering the same thing; two chicken club dinners with fries, he writes down, handing the paper back to Nick.

“My customer at table twelve wants to see you,” Calum tells him when they’re collecting dirty dishes from a few empty tables.

Zayn looks over at Niall, who’s picking at his burger and fries — brows furrowed as he apparently reads through some sort of textbook. “I’m a little busy,” Zayn says.

Calum shakes his head. “He said you’d say that,” he says.

Zayn pauses, putting the last cup into the dish bin. “Alright, fine, I’ll — say hi, or whatever,” he says, mostly to himself as he stalks into the back to give them the dishes to clean.

When he comes back out Zayn wipes his hands on his apron, because he’s nervous for whatever reason, approaching Niall’s table.

“Apparently you wanted to see me?” is the first thing Zayn asks, tucking his pencil behind his ear.

Niall looks up at him, smiling, though why on earth he’s smiling Zayn hasn’t a fucking clue. “Did, yeah. Your friend said you were a bit busy, though,” Niall says. “Feels a bit like you were avoiding me, though, if I’m honest.”

Zayn promptly chokes on nothing, leaning back onto the balls of his feet. He shakes his head. “Wasn’t avoiding you. I’m at my job, I have a lot to do,” he answers, sounding perhaps a bit more sharp than he’d been intending.

Niall nods, looking around for a moment. “I’m the only customer here — apart from that couple, over there,” he comments.

“There’s a lot of dishes to do in the back,” Zayn counters, but it’s a weak argument, and they both know that. 

“I _was_ thinking, though,” Niall starts again. Zayn holds back a groan, leaning against the opposite side of Niall’s booth. “Thursday we should do tutoring here.”

“Where, the diner?” Zayn asks, confused. Niall nods.

“I like it here. It’s loud — but not too loud; just enough to keep me focused,” Niall says.

“You can’t be serious,” Zayn says. “You can’t even hear yourself think here, let alone work on fucking calculus.”

Niall raises an eyebrow, almost like a challenge. “I’m assuming you don’t want me to pick you up?” he asks.

“Pick me up for what?” Zayn asks, now feeling slightly irritated. Though with himself or Niall, he isn’t exactly sure.

“For tutoring, on Thursday. Here,” Niall explains patiently, putting his pencil down where he’d been working on his homework.

“I can take a bus,” Zayn dismisses his offer easily.

“Alright,” Niall says, not pushing the subject. 

Zayn should say something, aside from standing here and just staring at Niall now. “What are you working on?” he settles on asking Niall finally.

Niall looks down at his notebook, pausing for a few moments as he glances over the page. “It’s a paper,” he says, “on Shakespeare.”

“Shakespeare?” Zayn repeats. “Aren’t you like — an engineering major?”

Niall nods. “Yeah, I am,” he says. “But you get to take all those first year courses, right? So I picked English.”

“Right, yeah,” Zayn says.

“You’re pre-med, aren’t you?” Niall asks. 

“Yeah,” Zayn answers slowly. “How did you know that?”

“Louis told me,” Niall says simply. “Guess I should be calling you doctor from now, shouldn’t I?”

“I would rather you didn’t,” Zayn says, motioning toward Niall’s empty mug. “Do you want more coffee?”

“Tea, doctor,” Niall corrects, grinning. Zayn bites his lower lip, reminding himself that punching Niall would, in fact, get him fired. “But yes please, that would be great. Gonna be here for a while, I think. Need to write this paper before it’s due in three days.”

Zayn snorts. “Yeah, should finish that then,” he says. “I’ll send Calum with your tea in a sec.”

Niall’s face falls, as if he’s disappointed, but Zayn doesn’t question it — just walks into the back and resists the urge to punch his fucking fist through the wall.

— 

He comes home to Harry on the phone in the kitchen, Liam in the living room watching a movie as Zayn goes to sit beside him on the couch.

“You look fucking exhausted,” Liam comments.

“Thanks, Li,” Zayn deadpans, leaning a head against his shoulder. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, come on,” Liam defends, ruffling Zayn’s hair gently. “What’s wrong?”

Zayn shrugs, letting his eyes fall shut for a few moments. “Nothing,” he mumbles.

Liam laughs, quietly, shaking his head. “What is it,” he says.

“Niall,” Zayn says, only sounding slightly bitter.

“Ah,” Liam says, sounding knowing. He leans back against the couch. “What about him? Did you finally take him up on an offer to go in his car?”

“No,” Zayn says. “I’m never getting in that fucking car.”

“It’s a really nice car,” Liam counters. 

“If it’s so nice why don’t you let Niall seduce you in it, then,” Zayn snaps, though he doesn’t really mean it — not directed at Liam, anyway.

Liam sighs. “Don’t think he wants to seduce _me_ in it,” he says.

Zayn’s brows furrow as he sits up, now looking at Liam. “What is that supposed mean,” he asks.

Liam doesn’t look away from the television, but he is smiling a little — and it’s making Zayn uncomfortable.

“I just mean —” Liam starts, yawning briefly. “That it isn’t me he’s got a massive crush on.”

“Who is it then? Louis?” Zayn asks, suddenly feeling more awake as he watches Liam shake his head in response.

“Definitely not Louis,” Liam answers. “Why are you so curious anyway? You fucking hate him.”

“Not curious,” Zayn says quickly, moving to get his bag as he starts toward his room.

“You sound a bit curious,” Liam presses.

“Not curious, don’t care,” Zayn says, pointedly avoiding making eye contact with Liam.

“Even if I said it was Harry?” Liam asks. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest.

“It’s not Harry,” Zayn says, because he’s not a fucking idiot.

Liam’s grinning now, similar to the one Louis had given Zayn the other night. “Not Harry,” Liam repeats.

“Right, well, I have homework to do,” Zayn says quickly, opening his door and stepping inside — promising himself he’s never, ever going to fucking leave it.

Just after he makes this promise to himself, his phone buzzes with a text from Louis, of all people, as he unlocks his phone to read it.

 _so._ is all it says.

 _surely u have a more extensive vocabulary_ , Zayn responds, rolling his eyes at his phone.

 _you’re the tutor, not me ;)_ a second later, Louis is typing again. _or should i say….. doctor?_

_im blocking ur number_

_don’t do that_ Louis sends back. _because then i can’t tell you who niall really has a crush on, now can’t i?_

_what, ru living in our house now?_

_nah. a little birdie told me, though :)_

_im gonna kill liam_

_murder is bad zayn!!!!!!!_ Louis replies, but Zayn tosses his phone onto his pillow and proceeds not to look at it for the rest of the night.

— 

By some stroke of truly unfortunate luck, Louis is their server on Thursday afternoon. Zayn sees him the moment he walks into the restaurant, arriving there a few minutes before Niall. He slides into a booth and ignores him.

“You didn’t let me seat you,” Louis comments as he walks up, putting down two menus.

“You’re supposed to be off today,” Zayn says moodily.

“Yes, well, funny story, that.” Louis begins. Zayn sinks lower into the booth, hoping it’ll make Louis go away, or himself disappear. Neither of those things happen and Louis keeps talking. “So, Calum? He has a date tonight with that classmate of his — the one with the lip ring?”

“Luke?” Zayn asks.

“That’s the one,” Louis says. “And since you’re tied up with Niall, and Harry’s got night class and Liam’s working at his job, I thought, hey, why don’t I make some extra cash and take his shift like the good person I am?”

“Or to spy on me and Niall,” Zayn says.

“Hardly,” Louis says. “Plus, Nick is being a raging dick tonight, so it’s not like I particularly want to be here, anyway.”

“Probably because you said something to him,” Zayn says. “Or, like, breathed in his general direction.”

“Anyway,” Louis cuts him off. “Do you want anything? Sparkling water? Champagne? A beer? The tears of one Mr. Nicholas Grimshaw himself?”

“Gross,” Zayn says, making a face. “Just water, please. Minus the tears.” 

“Suit yourself.” Louis grins at him before walking off to get his water. Zayn takes out his computer and checks the time. Nearly half three, he thinks to himself as he pulls his sweater closer around his body. 

“Fucking freezing outside,” Niall’s voice comes about half a minute later, sliding in across from Zayn into the booth.

“Well, it is New York,” Zayn tells him.

Niall shakes snow out of his hair, and Zayn tells himself repeatedly that it’s not attractive, it’s fucking _snow_. He leans back slowly, gripping the edge of the table. 

They get settled a few minutes later, Louis coming and taking their orders — though not before he chats with Niall for a good solid ten minutes, every once in a while giving Zayn a pointed look, his eyebrows raised and all. Zayn ignores him. 

“So you’re both ordering burgers and fries?” Louis asks. “The exact same order?”

“No pickles on mine,” Zayn adds, because he knows where Louis is going with this.

“You always have pickles on your burgers,” Louis says.

“I don’t like them anymore,” Zayn argues.

Louis blinks, as if unsure what to do with this information. “You can’t just — oh, you know what? Fine. No pickles. Fucking weirdo,” he says before walking off, leaving him and Niall at the table once again.

“So, calculus?” Niall asks, taking out his textbook.

“Right, calculus,” Zayn agrees, opening up his notes once more.

After a solid hour and a half of nothing but calculus, Zayn is pretty sure he’s broken Niall. His forehead is pressed against the table in what looks to be a position of defeat. 

“What have you gone and done to Niall, then?” Louis asks as he approaches, a pot of coffee at hand as he pours some into Zayn’s mug.

“Nothing,” Zayn says.

“Too much calculus,” Niall mumbles, barely audible. “Can’t even fucking think anymore. It’s all formulas and shit.”

“Ah, well, budge up then,” Louis says, clasping Niall’s shoulder. “You haven’t even gotten dessert yet.”

Niall groans. Louis smirks, winking at Zayn before walking to the next table, chatting animatedly with them. Zayn watches Niall finally, slowly, sit up.

“Gonna make it?” Zayn asks.

“No,” Niall says, rubbing his eyes. 

“Tragic,” Zayn comments, but he’s smiling a little despite himself.

When he looks up from his plate Niall’s already looking at him, and even when Zayn catches him staring he doesn’t look away — instead shifting a little as he crosses his arms over his chest silently.

“Tell me about you,” Niall says.

“I’m — what?” Zayn asks, nearly dropping his fork.

“Whatever you want, just, you know. Start talking,” Niall says.

“I don’t — know?” Zayn answers.

Niall just smiles, a slight upturn of his mouth as he leans against the top of the table, stirring his tea. “Do you have any siblings?” Niall asks.

“Three,” Zayn says slowly. “All sisters.”

Niall nods, pulling his beanie down further over his head. “Did you grow up here?”

Zayn, not particularly enjoying the feeling of being interrogated, shakes his head. “In Brooklyn,” he says. “My dad works there, so we all lived there, in an apartment,” he explains.

“Is your dad a doctor?” Niall asks.

Zayn stares at him, brows furrowed. “No,” he answers.

“Then why do you want to be a doctor?” Niall asks.

“What is this, twenty questions?” Zayn nearly snaps. But Niall doesn’t seem all that deterred, merely shrugging as Zayn sighs. “He’s not a doctor, no. But he’s always wanted me to be one, I guess. So I just — am studying to be one.”

Niall hums, chewing on the end of a french fry. “Can we like — not talk about this anymore?” Zayn asks, feeling slightly uncomfortable as he coughs into his fist.

“Sure,” Niall complies easily. “Just figured we could talk about something else besides calculus.”

Zayn nods, swallowing, and picks up his jacket. “I’m going for a cigarette, I’ll be back,” he says before standing and making his way toward the door.

It’s not snowing, but it is fucking cold. Zayn lights his cigarette, leaning against the wall as he closes his eyes for a few moments. What the fuck was that? What the fuck _was that_? he thinks, looking back through the window. Niall’s still there, seemingly sitting there oblivious as Zayn exhales a puff of smoke.

On the one hand, it was a few, harmless questions. But on the other hand, they’re not here to talk about Zayn’s sisters, or why he wanted to become a doctor — it’s just tutoring, that’s what he signed up to do; not give a detailed history about his life to some guy he doesn’t even really like all that much. He considers texting Harry, though what about he has no fucking clue, as he watches a few cars drive past on the somewhat quiet street.

Zayn finishes his cigarette as he pushes through the door. He doesn’t really want to go back inside but he still walks back toward their table and sits down again. 

Louis takes their orders for dessert, Niall getting some ice cream and Zayn not getting anything, decidedly not in the mood for dessert — or anything that will make him stay here any longer than he has to be.

And it’s not until Zayn’s taking a sip of his coffee does Niall speak up again. 

“You realize this is a date, right?” Niall says calmly.

Zayn chokes on his coffee, loudly, and stares at Niall across the table. “I’m sorry?” he asks.

“A date,” Niall repeats. “You, me, eating dinner. It’s a date.”

“I’m _tutoring you_ ,” Zayn clarifies. “This is not a date.”

Niall leans back, putting both his hands behind his head. “Kinda feels like a date though,” he says.

“Not a date,” Zayn tells him firmly.

If Zayn didn’t know any better he’d think Niall was smiling. “Alright,” Niall says, not arguing with him anymore. 

“I should — go, then,” Zayn says. 

“Sure,” Niall says. “Monday morning?” he asks, closing his textbook.

Zayn nods, getting his things together as Louis approaches their table again, putting down Niall’s ice cream. He looks at Zayn for a moment, then Niall. “So — two bills?” he asks.

“One,” Niall says.

“Two,” Zayn says quickly after him.

Louis blinks. “I’m not doing this right now, I have far too much to do than to hear you two bicker over a bill,” he says. “I’m doing one — because I like Niall more than you right now,” he adds, smiling at Zayn as he makes a noise of protest.

“So, it’s kind of a date,” Niall says, grinning now.

Zayn curses under his breath, bag packed as he stands, looking at Niall once more. “I’ll — see you Monday, then, I guess,” he says.

“Bye, Zayn,” Niall says.

And if anyone were to tell Zayn his cheeks were flushed, he would deny till the day he died, pushing open the door and rushing out onto the cold street once again.

— 

So the weeks go on, and Zayn continues to tutor Niall — and try to keep his life together, though that isn’t going so well. If he’s not at work, he’s holed up in his room, or the library, working on assignments and papers and making an effort not to rip out all his fucking hair. 

It’s a weirdly quiet Friday night, no one else in the restaurant except for Calum, Nick, and Harry reading a book in one of the booths — a permanent frown on his face the entire time he’s been there.

“Your face is going to get stuck if you keep doing that,” Zayn tells him, wiping the table Harry’s sitting at in front of him.

Harry blinks, looking at Zayn over his book before moving his leg to try and kick at Zayn’s shin. “Quiet, you. I’m concentrating,” he chastises. Zayn grins.

“Don’t concentrate too hard, alright? Might set your hair on fire or something,” Zayn says before walking back toward the tills. 

Nick’s nearly done in the back, Calum mopping as Zayn counts the tills — making sure all the coffee is poured out and the pots cleaned before he goes to get his coat from the back.

“Got any plans tonight?” he asks Calum as they get their things, Nick mumbling a goodbye before he goes out the back door.

Calum blushes, honest to God _blushes_ , before he shrugs. “Luke’s picking me up, I think,” he says. “Then we’re gonna watch a movie maybe, I don’t know.”

Zayn smirks, nodding. “‘Watch a movie’,” he repeats, quoting it with his fingers. “Sure thing, Calum.”

Calum rolls his eyes, shoving Zayn lightly as they walk back out into the cafe, Harry now waiting by the door, book put away into his bag as he zips up his coat.

As expected, Luke is outside in a car that’s about to fall apart any second now. They both wave to Calum before he gets into the front seat, the car making a loud, concerning sort of noise as it drives off.

“Ah, young love,” Harry says, grinning at Zayn under the light from the street lamps. 

“Get all your work done?” Zayn asks, motioning to Harry’s bag at his hip.

Harry shrugs, pulling his beanie down further over his head. “Kind of. Still have that fucking paper to write, but. It’ll be fine,” he says.

Zayn hums in response, itching for a cigarette but he’s apparently left his pack at home. 

“So how’s — things?” Harry asks as they make their way back to their apartment. 

Zayn snorts, glancing at him briefly. “Never can do subtle, can you?” he asks. 

Harry scowls at him, waiting for Zayn to take out his keys — both of them shivering in front of the door. “Didn’t say I was trying to be subtle,” Harry points out, the two of them kicking the snow off their shoes before stepping inside.

“It’s fine,” Zayn answers, starting up the stairs. “It’s just calculus.”

“So you keep saying,” Harry says, but doesn’t push the subject as they reach their apartment. 

The door’s unlocked, and the first thing Zayn sees when he walks inside is Liam and Louis in front of the television playing fifa. Louis' busy shouting a string of curse words as Zayn shakes his head.

In an attempt to warm up he walks into the kitchen to make some tea when — “Oh,” Zayn says, spotting Niall by the sink. “Erm, hi.”

“Hi,” Niall says brightly, in the middle of trying to open a can of — pasta. “How was work?”

“Fine, yeah. Quiet,” Zayn says. “Need help with that?” he asks, motioning to the can opener Niall is having difficulty with.

Niall makes a face of slight embarrassment before nodding and handing it to Zayn in defeat. “It’s not like the ones we have back home,” he explains. 

“Back home in —” Zayn trails off, gripping the can opener tight as he tries to get the lid off.

“Ireland,” Niall finishes, “the ones you have here are fucked up, mate.”

Zayn smirks, before he finally gets the lid off — managing to get only a little bit of sauce on the counter as he gives it back to Niall. Their fingers brush for a brief moment before he pulls away. He moves, side stepping to the right so Niall can get the pasta into a small pot on the stovetop. Zayn turns on the kettle, reaching for his usual mug and tea bag.

“Niall, what the fuck is taking so long? I’m starving,” Louis’ rather demanding voice comes a few moments later.

“Shut up, it’ll be ready in a few,” Niall snaps in response, Louis cursing once more as Zayn leans against the counter wordlessly.

“He like this at your apartment?” Zayn asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Worse,” Niall replies, stirring the pasta with a wooden spoon. Zayn pours the now boiled water into his mug.

“I can only imagine,” Zayn says, putting the tea bag into the garbage. 

“I’ll — see you around, I guess,” Niall says when Zayn reaches the doorway.

“Sure,” Zayn says before he starts toward his room, ignoring the weird flip in his stomach as he goes.

— 

_what are you doing on friday_ Louis texts him after his lecture on Wednesday afternoon.

 _dunno_ Zayn types back, _why?_

Louis texting him like this can mean one of two things. One: he’s got a shift he wants to get out of. Or two: there’s something going on that he’s already said Zayn will be attending. 

_niall’s birthday. you’re coming. no excuses. be ready for eight, we are all going out :)_ Zayn nearly groans when he reads it. _and try to be at least a little excited please!!!!!!!_

— 

By eight on Friday night, Zayn is ready to go — if only begrudgingly. He tried to come up with an excuse but he was fairly certain Harry wouldn’t believe him if he said he’d suddenly come down with a random case of mad cow disease. It hadn’t worked, at any rate.

Right now, though, he’s waiting for Harry — standing by the front door and hoping that maybe Harry will take too long to get ready and they won’t be going out. Harry’s coming around the corner though, putting an arm around Liam as they make their way toward the door.

“Look at this,” Harry says.

“Look at what,” Liam asks, glancing to Zayn curiously. Zayn just shrugs, because he’s beyond trying to decipher what Harry means anymore.

“ _Honestly_ , Liam,” Harry says, giving him a look. “We’re all going out! Zayn isn’t in his room writing papers! You’re not working!”

“Where’s Louis?” Zayn asks as they start down the stairs.

“Meeting us there. Apparently there’s gonna be a group of us at this bar,” Harry explains. 

“Great,” Zayn deadpans. A group of people he doesn’t know at a bar he isn’t all that fond of. Should be fun, he thinks to himself as they pile into Liam’s car.

— 

Liam’s designated driver, the radio playing something Harry hates apparently, as he complains the moment the music starts playing. They bicker most of the way there, up until they're pulling into the full parking lot. Zayn pulls his jacket tighter around his body. 

“You look miserable,” Harry comments as the three of them start toward the door.

“It’s cold out,” Zayn snaps in response.

Harry frowns, but doesn’t say anything more as they step inside. It’s easy to find Louis and Niall, both of them talking excitedly at the bar. Louis lets out a satisfied laugh when he sees Zayn, putting an arm around his shoulders and tugging him close.

“Decided to come, did you?” he asks, cheeks flushed as he grins widely.

“Didn’t really have a choice, did I?” Zayn asks.

Louis nods. “‘Fraid not,” he says in agreement. “Now, what do you say we get you a drink? I need you about as drunk as I am right now.”

Zayn snorts. “Hey, Sheeran!” Louis calls to someone Zayn doesn’t recognize, a red haired man who turns to look at them where he’s leaning against the bar.

“You’re so loud,” is the first thing he says, looking between Louis and Zayn. 

“Yes, well, all part of my charm,” Louis says, poking the man’s cheek briefly. “Ed, this is my friend, Zayn. Zayn, this is Ed.”

“Nice to meet you,” Zayn says, extending a hand.

“You too,” Ed says. “Sorry you have to be friends with this one,” he adds, nodding toward Louis.

Louis pouts, making a sound of protest beside Zayn. “I resent that,” he says. “I’m a fucking delight.”

“Sure you are,” Zayn says, enjoying the laugh Ed gives him in response.

They order some more drinks, Ed helping to carry them back to the table where Harry immediately calls Louis over. He's talking to Niall and someone else Zayn doesn’t know, picking up his beer as he takes a drink from it. 

“So you know Niall?” Ed asks Zayn. They stand together, no room to sit in the booth.

“Kind of, yeah,” Zayn answers. “He lives with Louis, so. We see him a bit.”

“He’s pretty great, isn’t he?” Ed says. 

Zayn nods, swallowing, as he tries to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. “How do you know him?” Zayn asks finally, unsure of what else to say.

“Played guitar together a bit, I used to teach him a while back — but he’s better than I am now, I think,” Ed answers.

Zayn blinks, looking at Niall — who’s laughing with Harry, both their faces bright. He opens his mouth to say something until Niall’s voice comes, loud from a few feet away.

“Ed! Ed, come tell Harry about that night in Monaco,” he’s saying, motioning him over.

Ed gives him an apologetic look. “I’ll be right back, I’m sorry,” he says, taking a step toward Niall and Harry, already starting in on the story.

“You alright?” Liam asks a few moments later.

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “Just need another drink, that’s all.”

— 

Turns out, parties are more fun when you’re drunk, Zayn soon finds out. He’s lost count of his drinks at this rate and he's leaning against Harry in the booth for support. Beside them, Ed's telling another story as Louis laughs loudly beside him.

“I think —” Zayn starts, pointing at Ed. Or, somewhere in Ed’s direction, which is good enough. “You’re making all this up.”

Harry laughs, his head buried in Zayn’s shoulder. Ed’s saying something now, Louis adding a comment as Zayn glances up — seeing Niall walking away.

He excuses himself, sliding out of the booth as Harry moves to lean against Liam, who offers Harry a bit of his water. Zayn doesn’t stay there long enough to see him refuse, instead walking after Niall, who’s now nearly at the bar.

“Niall!” Zayn calls, watching him turn around, looking rather confused when he sees Zayn standing there.

“Zayn? You alright?” Niall asks. 

Zayn sways, a little, trying to keep himself upright as he reaches out for Niall’s shoulder. He nods. “Why are you leaving?” he asks, his other hand on Niall’s waist now.

He likes being this close to Niall, Zayn decides — and he’s not quite sure why he hasn’t done it before. “I’m not —” Niall looks like he’s trying not to smile or something, as he shakes his head. “Getting some water for you and Harry,” he finishes.

Zayn blinks. “Why?”

Niall clearly is not as drunk as Zayn is — in fact, Zayn’s pretty sure in his hazy mind he can remember Niall only having two beers tonight. “You’re a little drunk, I think,” Niall says, taking a step away from Zayn.

“No, no —” Zayn starts, gently gripping Niall’s elbow. “You can’t go.”

Niall stares at him for a few moments, expression unreadable before he nods. “I’m not leaving, promise. Just getting some water, yeah?”

Zayn nods, though he doesn’t release Niall’s elbow, watching him walk back toward the bar.

And it goes on like that. Zayn doesn’t leave Niall’s side; or tries not to as best he can and by two am it’s the five of them and Ed, along with someone else whose name Zayn cannot remember.

“Comfortable, Zayn?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow.

Zayn frowns at him. “I am,” he replies, glancing over at Niall.

“You know,” Niall begins, leaning over to ruffle Harry’s curls. “If this is all part of your scheme to kill me, that’s a bad idea. Because you can’t go to medical school if you’re in prison,” he finishes.

Louis snorts as Zayn’s brows furrow, “I don’t hate you.”

Niall laughs, one of his arms resting around Zayn’s shoulders. “I know, I know — shit, it was a joke, Zayn, don’t worry,” he reassures him.

But Zayn shakes his head, more firmly now as everyone else laughs — Harry clapping his hands like some sort of deranged, ecstatic seal. “But jokes are funny,” Zayn insists, frowning once again.

Somewhere just shy of three in the morning, Zayn decides that he wants to go home, too tired and too drunk to care about anything else other than his bed.

“Niall’s going to take you home,” Liam tells him as they’re standing at the doors. He's smiling a little.

“I thought you were my ride,” Zayn asks, confused.

“He wants to take you. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. I have to get some food with Louis and Harry, so I’ll see at home, yeah?”

“Alright,” Zayn says slowly.

“Do you want to come with me instead?” Liam asks, now looking slightly concerned.

“No, no, I — want to go with Niall,” Zayn says.

Liam smiles again. “I’ll see you at home, then.”

Niall’s saying goodbye to Ed when Zayn turns around, watching him walk over toward the door, keys in his hand.

“Ready?” he asks, opening the door.

Zayn follows him out, nearly tripping over his own two feet. Niall is there, though — one arm around his waist, keeping him steady. “Don’t go cracking your head open, yeah?” he teases. Zayn smiles in response, laughing quietly.

“No promises,” Zayn slurs, leaning against Niall as they walk toward his car, which is at the far end of the parking lot. “Do you know something?”

Niall hums in response, unlocking his car as he tries to get the front door with Zayn still leaning against him. “I promised myself I’d never ride in this car,” Zayn admits.

“Did you?” Niall asks, an amused sort of expression on his face as he helps Zayn into the front seat, making sure he’s buckled and all inside before closing the door. “Why’s that?”

Zayn leans his head back, head pounding as he shrugs. He’s going to have a headache from hell tomorrow, he can feel it now. “Just kind of hated it, I guess. Dunno, really,” Zayn says.

Niall laughs, turning out of the parking lot and towards Zayn’s apartment. The stereo’s playing some radio station, the song unrecognizable to Zayn where he’s sitting now. 

“I’m glad you came tonight,” Niall tells him after a while, his voice quiet.

Zayn turns, looking over at him. His eyes are focused on the road, hands on the steering wheel and it’s here Zayn can see how soft his hair is, pressed against his forehead — eyes gentle and unassuming, he thinks, like this.

“Me too,” Zayn says truthfully as Niall pulls in front of his building.

“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” Niall says, cutting the engine and coming to help Zayn out of the front seat once more. 

Zayn goes easily. Niall smells like cologne and beer; it's a good mixture, Zayn decides.

No one’s home as they step inside, and Zayn doesn’t like the idea that soon he’ll be in bed and without Niall pressed against his side. The thought makes him frown. “What’s wrong?” Niall asks when he looks at Zayn.

“Nothing,” Zayn lies, waving a hand around. “Tired,” he adds.

Niall smiles again as he opens the door and he helps Zayn to his bed. He sits on the edge of it, eyes closing as Niall gets his shoes off — leaving them somewhere by the door as he pulls back the covers for Zayn.

“I’m going to get you some water — get changed into some other clothes to sleep in, yeah?” Niall suggests before he goes, the light in the living room on as Zayn does as he was instructed.

By the time Niall gets back he’s nearly asleep. He takes the aspirin with some water as Niall holds the cup for him. As he goes to turn off the lamp, however, Zayn reaches out and blindly grabs for what he assumes to be Niall’s hand in the now darkness of his room — gripping it.

“Zayn —” Niall starts, voice gentle as he sits on the edge of his bed. “You should sleep.”

Zayn shakes his head, adamant. “I wanted — to say something,” he says, feeling Niall’s thumb tracing the inside of his wrist. “Two things, actually.”

Niall doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t argue either, so Zayn continues. “I don’t — hate you.”

He hears Niall laugh, softly. “I know you don’t,” he says.

“I think — it’s kind of the opposite, maybe,” Zayn continues. Fuck, he’s so drunk, and Niall’s hand as he plays with Zayn’s fingers is so warm — just how he imagined it would have been. “And — happy birthday. Sorry I ruined it,” he adds after a moment.

And then Niall’s breath is warm against Zayn’s cheek — making his breath catch in his throat. “Didn’t ruin it at all, I promise,” Niall tells him, pressing his lips to Zayn’s cheek before he pulls back, pausing in Zayn’s doorway before he closes his bedroom door behind him.

Zayn is so, completely, fucked.

— 

Maybe Niall doesn’t remember it. Maybe it’s all in Zayn’s head, he thinks as he forces himself out of bed sometime after noon, head pounding as he groans.

“Morning,” Liam greets, handing him a mug of coffee that Zayn accepts gratefully. “You look about as good as Harry does.”

Zayn grimaces, sipping his drink, and takes a bite of Liam’s half a bagel on the counter. “That good then?” Zayn manages to croak out, wincing at the light.

“On the verge of death? Something like that,” Liam jokes with a wink. “Gotta get to work though, I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Zayn nods, watching him wheel his bike out off the balcony. “Bye, Liam,” he says, slumping onto a chair in the kitchen. He hears Harry’s voice from the living room a few moments later.

“Coffee.” 

“I don’t think I can move,” Zayn says, closing his eyes to try and relieve the pounding in his head. It doesn’t work.

Finally, after he manages to finish Liam’s bagel and most of his coffee, he checks his phone. There’s a string of texts from Louis, unsurprisingly.

 _NI ALL IS DR IVING YOU HOME ?? ? ???? ??_ followed by, _if you k iss him in taht c ar we are having a wor d_ , and then _i think i’m dead?_

Zayn smirks, running a hand through his hair. _i think i am too_ he sends back.

 _solidarity, then_ Louis replies a few minutes later with what a skull emoji, which Zayn can relate to. 

_i kind of want a piano to drop on my head_ Zayn sends back.

 _fuck_ Louis replies in what Zayn can only assume is agreement. Then, _niall and i are coming by later so i can wallow with you and harry_.

Zayn pauses, swallowing. _sure_ he sends back, ignoring the nervous feeling in his stomach. He shifts in his chair, taking in a deep breath.

“Harry? Louis is coming over later,” he says.

“Great,” Harry groans. “We can all die together.”

“Right,” Zayn deadpans, shaking his head as he goes back into his room — falling onto his bed until Louis and Niall show up, letting his eyes fall closed once again.

— 

“Zayn.”

Zayn blinks awake, rubbing his eyes as he sits up to find Louis sitting at the end of his bed. He jumps, swearing loudly. “Louis — what the _fuck_ ,” Zayn says, breathing heavily as he clutches his blankets.

“Oh, shut it, it’s not like I’m some mass murderer,” Louis snaps. “Now, tell me what happened with Niall.”

Zayn pauses, but Louis doesn’t move. “When — what happened with Niall,” he asks.

Louis rolls his eyes, slapping Zayn’s calf. “Last night, keep _up_ ,” Louis says, rather impatiently. “He won’t tell me anything — just keeps smiling like a fucking idiot. It’s worrying me.”

“Maybe he’s just happy. It _was_ his birthday yesterday,” Zayn suggests, kicking at Louis.

“No one’s that happy, not even on their birthday,” Louis says. “Did you blow him in the bathroom?”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Zayn moans, putting a hand over his face. “Why does your mind automatically go there?”

Louis’ brows furrow as he pinches Zayn’s arm. “Well, you’re not giving me anything to go by here, so. I have to fill in the gaps myself,” he says.

“Nothing happened. He drove me home, gave me some aspirin, and left,” Zayn says simply.

Louis narrows his eyes, as if he’s somehow going to read Zayn’s mind. It doesn’t happen, and he’s just left pouting with his legs crossed underneath themselves.

“I think you’re lying,” he says.

Zayn shrugs. “I have to go check on Harry,” he says, pushing himself up off the bed — head pounding significantly less as he pushes open the door to his room.

Harry’s still on the couch, flipping through stations with a half eaten piece of pizza as Zayn walks into the kitchen. He hears Louis say something to Harry as he turns on the coffee maker, getting a fresh pot ready until he hears someone cough behind him.

Niall’s in the doorway, looking at him with a slightly amused expression on his face. Zayn nearly drops his mug with surprise.

“Hi,” Zayn says dumbly.

“Hi, yourself,” Niall says, taking a step toward him. “How are you feeling?”

Zayn can’t tell if Niall remembers what he said last night, or if he’s just genuinely happy to be standing in a kitchen with him while he’s very hungover. Suddenly Zayn’s very aware of how terrible his breath smells; he tries to find a subtle way to put his hand over his mouth as he shrugs.

“Great,” he answers.

Niall raises his eyebrows at him. “You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Never better,” Zayn says, but even he doesn’t even really believe it. He groans. “I feel like shit. There, you happy?”

Niall smiles, adjusting the snapback on his head as he leans against the counter a few feet away from Zayn. 

He should’ve brushed his fucking teeth. Harry’s always telling him to do it when he’s just woken up, why couldn’t he have listened to something Harry said for once?

“Have enough for two?” Niall asks.

“Hm?” Niall motions to the coffee pot. “Oh — yeah, sure.”

He’s nervous. He’s nervous and Niall is here, beside him, not hungover. He smells really fucking good. Zayn does not care. 

Niall doesn’t say anything, seemingly content to stand in the silence as Zayn takes out another mug — along with some milk from the fridge. “Do you take anything in your coffee?” he asks.

“Two sugars, a little milk,” Niall responds, pushing himself to sit on the edge of the counter. 

Zayn busies himself with getting their coffees ready and hands one over to Niall.

“I want to take you out,” Niall says after a moment, breaking the silence that’s settled between them.

“What, like, to get food? 'Cause I think there’s still half a pizza in the fridge, if you want some.” 

“No, like — take you _out_. On a date,” Niall clarifies. 

“What?” Zayn blurts out, nearly spilling coffee all over himself. “I’m — wait. What?”

“Saturday?” Niall suggests, ignoring Zayn's stammer. “I can come get you around four?”

“Um,” is all Zayn can think to say.

“Alright,” Niall says, getting off the counter and walking towards the doorway. “Saturday, at four. It’s a date.”

Zayn nods, opening his mouth, then closing it as he looks at Niall for a moment. “Sure,” Zayn says slowly. “It’s a date.”

— 

Thankfully Zayn’s got so much work to do he doesn’t have a lot of time to think about his impending date with Niall, save for the twice he sees him during the week. Niall doesn't bring it up, but he does smile widely at Zayn from across the table, so, it looks like neither of them have forgotten about it. 

Right now, however, he’s standing in Harry’s doorway — not wearing a shirt and holding up a number of clothing options. The whole situation is looking rather hopeless.

“Alright, don’t — look so upset, you’re going on a date, for Christ’s sake,” Harry says as he takes a few shirts from Zayn.

He lays them out on his bed before he turns, staring at him for a moment. “You realize it’s fucking freezing outside, yeah?” he asks. Zayn shrugs in response. “You’re gonna die in these, you idiot.”

Zayn makes a face, sighing. “You’re being very helpful right now, you know,” he says.

“He means you’re not being very helpful at all, Harry,” Liam comments, not looking up from what he’s reading on Harry’s bed.

“Yes, I did manage to figure that one out, Liam,” Harry deadpans. He turns, walking toward his closet and taking out a few sweaters. He hands them to Zayn. “Wear one of these, please, so you don’t get hypothermia.”

Zayn takes them in defeat. He picks a grey sweater he’s seen Harry wearing before — pulling it over his head. “Better?” he asks.

“Much,” Harry says. “Now get that beanie of yours on and a coat and you’re good to go.”

Zayn smiles a little, leaning his head against Harry’s shoulder. “Thanks, Harry,” he mumbles.

Liam coughs noticeably from the bed. “You too, Liam,” he adds with a small laugh. 

“Yeah, yeah, now get out of here,” Harry says, giving Zayn’s bum a light tap as he leaves the room.

Zayn gives them one last wave before he takes his phone and jacket, glancing at the clock. It’s about five to four. He relaxes, seeing a text from Louis.

 _be nice_ he reads, biting his lower lip to hold back his grin. _and remember, don’t kiss on the first date. leave a little mystery_.

Zayn texts him to leave him alone, he’s getting ready, when there’s a knock at the door. Harry pokes his head out of his bedroom door as Zayn motions him to go back inside. Harry pouts — his head disappearing as Zayn takes in a deep breath, walking toward the door.

And there’s Niall. He’s standing there — hair done how Zayn likes, wearing the same sweater, jacket, and jeans combination as Zayn feels his mouth go dry.

“Hey,” Niall greets, stepping inside as Zayn gives him room.

“Hi,” Zayn says, his palms sweating as he tries to regulate his breathing. Fuck, he’s so done for, and they haven’t even left the fucking apartment.

“So. For tonight? I was thinking we could get some food at this little restaurant I found. Or, Louis and I found, I guess — we were looking up places to eat the other night and we found this one, and it looks alright. Then, um — I got us tickets to a charity football game at school? Which, like, it’s cold as fucking balls outside but I have blankets in the car we can use and —”

Zayn, who's only half listening at this point, moves before he can stop himself — stepping toward Niall and kissing him — right in front of the door. Niall doesn’t complain; just makes a small, surprised noise as his hands immediately find Zayn’s waist — kissing him back with a gentle touch of his lips against Zayn's. 

“Sorry,” Zayn says quietly as he pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry, I just — I don’t know. Wanted to do that, I guess.”

Niall’s cheeks are flushed as he shakes his head. “No, no, that was — fine,” Niall manages to get out, clearing his throat. “I was just going to say we could walk around for a bit after that, if you wanted?”

Zayn nods, still standing rather close to Niall as he gently moves the pad of his thumb over the corner of Niall’s mouth — rather enjoying the way Niall shivers in response. 

“We should go then, maybe,” Niall says, the two of them starting toward the door.

He glances back once more, catching sight of Harry — who’s grinning and gives Zayn a thumbs up. Zayn flips him off before he starts down the stairs. 

They pull up in front of the restaurant, between a bookshop and a bakery. Zayn pauses, looking at it. He’s never seen it before, not that he hangs out in this side of the city.

It’s Italian, Niall had told him on the ride over — Louis had apparently informed Niall that Zayn likes pasta. Zayn had snorted.

“I have a reservation?” Niall asks as he approaches the hostess, who smiles at him.

“Last name?” she asks politely.

“Horan,” Niall responds and she nods, taking two menus and leading them to a booth by the window. 

It’s nice, Zayn thinks to himself as he sits across from Niall. Really fucking nice, as he looks through the menu — trying hard not to focus on the prices as their waiter approaches.

“Hi, there, my name is Devon and I’ll be your server tonight,” he introduces himself, putting down a drinks menu. He pauses, looking at Niall. “I’m sorry — have I served you before? You look very familiar.”

Niall shakes his head, looking at Zayn for a moment before turning back to Devon. “Don’t think so, no, sorry,” he says apologetically.

“Do you get that a lot?” the waiter asks, apparently very curious.

“Sometimes, yeah,” Niall says, laughing a little. “Not sure why, though.”

Their waiter nods, but doesn’t push the subject anymore as he takes their drink orders before he leaves them to pick dinner for themselves.

“You alright?” Niall asks after a few minutes, nudging Zayn’s leg with his foot gently.

Zayn looks up, blinking. “Yeah, sorry, shit — it always takes me a while to decide on what I want,” he explains, slightly embarrassed.

“It’s alright, my dad does the same thing,” Niall says. It’s the first time he’s ever mentioned his family, Zayn realizes as he waits for him to continue. “Takes twenty minutes to pick, then at the last second changes his mind. Every single time,” he finishes.

“Sounds like me, to be honest,” Zayn mumbles, smirking into the back of his hand.

“Hopeless,” Niall teases, smiling at him.

“Probably,” Zayn says in agreement, his stomach flipping as Niall winks at him before going back to his menu.

Oh, Zayn’s in trouble, isn’t he?

He orders spaghetti and Niall gets some sort of pesto pasta, each with a side of soup — coming out in less than twenty minutes.

“So, what game are we going to?” Zayn asks, twirling a few noodles around his fork.

Niall shifts, looking a little sheepish as he wipes a bit of sauce from the corner of his lips. “It’s like — a charity game with the school’s football team?” he says. “I thought it would be fun but we don’t have to go.”

“No, no,” Zayn reassures him. “I wanna go. I haven’t been to a proper football game in years, it feels like.”

“Yeah? I thought Liam was obsessed with it,” Niall asks.

“He is,” Zayn says, smiling. “One time he nearly got Louis and I to go on the premise that he would pay for all our beer.”

Niall snorts, taking a sip of his water. “Sounds like that would work,” he says. “I’d fucking go if Liam paid for all my beer.”

Zayn laughs, quietly, the two of them finishing their drinks as Niall pays the bill — not even listening to Zayn’s complaints on the subject before they walk back outside. 

As they cross the street to get back to where Niall parked his car a few feet away, Zayn reaches out — taking Niall’s hand into his own, feeling the other boy intertwine their fingers effortlessly, like they were supposed to be this way all along.

“How long have you been wanting to do that?” Niall asks, looking up at him as they’re walking.

“Shut up,” Zayn mumbles where his mouth is pressed into Niall’s hair.

“All day? Since yesterday?” Niall presses.

“Since the first time I saw you,” Zayn admits, feeling Niall grip his hand gently in response.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Niall says. “You’re a fucking sap, who knew.”

Zayn pulls away from Niall then, the warmth from his hand gone as Niall makes a noise in protest — chasing his hand all the way back to the car.

 

It’s about a forty minute drive to the school’s football field, the parking lot nearly full as Niall picks a spot near the back. Zayn takes a pile of blankets, Niall carrying a thermos of what he promises is “good coffee”. Zayn is skeptical as they start towards the stands.

He’s shivering by the time they sit down, Niall putting the blankets over their laps as Zayn moves closer still — he’s fucking freezing and by the looks as things it’s not going to get better. Niall laughs a little, face still bright despite the weather as he pours them some coffee into the lid of the thermos.

When the game starts, people cheer loudly but Zayn can’t even move, unable to feel any part of his body. He feels Niall press closer into his side. The coffee is warm — if a bit too sugary for Zayn’s liking, but he doesn’t really care about that right now as he holds the lid between his hands.

“What’s that?” Niall asks, pointing at his hand.

Zayn blinks, looking down at the bird tattooed onto his hand. “Oh, it’s — my friend Danny did it for me, before I left for school,” he explains. “He’s got one on his on his other hand.”

Niall nods, his finger tracing the outline of it idly. Zayn pauses, swallowing. He misses Danny, hasn’t seen him in months — hasn’t seen him or Ant in months, actually, now that he thinks about it. “It’s nice,” Niall comments. “I like it.”

Zayn smiles, his chest a little tight as he opens up his hand. Niall doesn’t even think before he’s intertwining their fingers, his hand still warm. Zayn grips it tightly. 

“Shit,” Niall says, pulling on Zayn’s sleeve of his sweater lightly. “You’ve got like — loads of these, haven’t you?”

Zayn looks down, nodding. He shrugs. “A bit, yeah. Harry and I have a bit of an obsession. That's what Liam likes to call it,” he says.

Niall snorts, opening his mouth to say something when the loud music starts playing from the pitch, signifying that the game's gonna start. He takes in a deep breath. Niall doesn’t let go of his hand, instead holding onto it as he focuses on the field. Which, right, Zayn reminds himself — too caught up in the focused look on Niall’s face, he’s got a game to watch, apparently. 

The game starts a few minutes later, a ball being kicked into the air as the crowd cheers rather loudly, Zayn wincing as he braces himself for the next hour. 

“Do you know football at all?” Niall asks after a few minutes, brows furrowed together and looking awfully confused.

Zayn shakes his head. “Liam tried to explain it once but Louis just started talking over him so he gave up,” he says.

Niall laughs. “Right, well, I haven’t a fucking clue either, so it looks like we’re both going to be really lost.”

Zayn smirks, pressing his face against Niall’s shoulder as they game continues. It’s not boring, it's just that Zayn doesn’t understand what is happening — and Niall's doing no better, by the looks of things.

But it’s nice, because Niall’s holding his hand and what more could Zayn want, really, from an afternoon.

 

When halftime starts, Niall shifts, slightly, turning to look at Zayn. “Alright, so. Do you have any fucking clue what is happening here?”

Zayn shakes his head. Niall smiles, cheeks flushed in the cold air as he grips Zayn’s hand lightly in response. “I vote we get out of here then,” he suggests.

“We don’t have to _know_ what’s happening —” Zayn starts to protest but Niall shakes his head once more.

“I’m not like — embarrassed, or anything. I just thought my knowledge of football could help save this date for us, but clearly it hasn’t,” he says.

Zayn pauses for a moment before he gets an idea. “Well — I know a place we could go,” he says.

Niall’s eyebrows raise as he looks at Zayn, instantly curious. “Oh? Care to share with the class?”

“Can’t get it out of me that easily,” Zayn says.

Niall leans in, pressing his lips to Zayn’s — it sends shivers down his spine. “Are you sure?” Niall asks.

“Yes,” Zayn replies, laughing against his lips. “Stop cheating, we have somewhere to be.”

Niall makes a groan of protest but Zayn doesn’t say anything, winking at Niall as they gather up the blankets — the thermos tucked underneath Niall’s arm as they make their way back to the car.

“Lead the way, then,” Niall says as he starts the car. Zayn grins as he tells him to turn right out of the parking lot. 

 

He always forgets how close Nina’s is. Niall pulls up beside the sidewalk, the two of them getting out, the parking down the street surprisingly empty.

“This it?” Niall asks as they approach the small coffee shop, looking over at Zayn.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, bumping Niall’s hip with his own as they start up the wooden steps.

A small bell dings as he pushes open the door, the smell of espresso greeting them. They’re only about two steps in when he hears his name from the back of the shop.

“Didn’t expect to see you here today,” an older woman greets them, smiling warmly at Zayn. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?”

Zayn squeaks, or, makes a sound that’s similar to a squeak as he feels his cheeks flush. “I’m — still on a date,” he says.

“Oh — oh my God,” Elise says, laughing. “Is this him then?” she asks.

Niall looks at her, extending a hand that she shakes it briefly. “Niall,” he introduces.

“Nice to meet you,” Elise says. “Heard a bit about you though, I gotta be honest.”

“Oh God,” Zayn mumbles into one of his hands, the other tangled up in Niall’s.

“Have you?” Niall asks. “Wouldn’t mind hearing about that, actually.”

“I’m sure you’ll hear it all eventually,” Elise says with a wink. “So — what can I get you?” she offers, going to stand behind the counter.

“Two hot chocolates,” Zayn says.

“Coming right up,” Elise says, looking between the two of them briefly. “What were you two doing then?”

“Went to a football game,” Niall responds. He leans against Zayn in front of the small bar area where Elise is making their drinks.

Elise laughs, again, this time louder before she stops herself — covering her mouth. “I’m sorry — you took Zayn to a sporting event? Of his own accord?”

“Oh, shut it,” Zayn says, ignoring the look Niall’s giving him. “I’m not _that_ bad.”

“Really? Should I tell your handsome friend here about the fit you threw when that housemate of yours took you to a hockey game?”

“That was — one time, and I was _sick_ so I was miserable,” Zayn defends.

“Who was it then, Liam?” Niall asks, apparently very curious.

“Harry,” Zayn mumbles as two cups get placed in front of them.

“Right, well. I’m glad you’re out of the cold now,” Elise says, gripping Zayn’s other hand briefly before she lets it go — and if Zayn looks hard enough he can maybe see her eyes tearing up.

“Elise —” he starts, feeling a smile break out across his features.

“Oh, be quiet now and go look around, alright? Don’t need to point out when an old woman is getting emotional,” she says, attempting to sound firm before going into the back room.

Niall’s quiet as Zayn takes him around the small coffee shop. There are pictures along the wall, all from different places in Elise’s life — some with her kids, other with her husband, with friends and at weddings.

“Is that — you?” Niall asks, leaning closer to get a better look at one of the pictures.

Zayn nods. He’s sitting in the shop, headphones on and working on some sort of study sheet for biology, he remembers. “Shit, that was so long ago,” he recalls, seeing the faded colours from the sun shining through the windows.

“Do you come here a lot?” Niall asks. He’s holding his cup of hot chocolate in his other hand, his thumb lightly pressing against the palm of Zayn’s hand.

“A bit, yeah. To do homework,” Zayn replies.

“So, maybe not that weird to do homework in a diner, is it?” Niall teases.

Zayn leans over a bit, pressing his lips to the soft, warm skin of Niall’s temple for a few moments. “Maybe not that weird, then,” he says in agreement.

He tells Niall the story of how he’d met Elise in his first few weeks of moving to New York, not knowing Harry and Liam and feeling alone when he’d stumbled upon her shop. She’d given him a job, by some miracle, until she’d found him Nick’s diner to work at — which was closer to his apartment, and could give him more hours. But he still tries to come once a week, at least, to sit at his table by the window and do his work.

“Very studious, are you?” Niall asks.

Zayn rolls his eyes, looking to see a bit of whipped cream smudged along the top of Niall’s lips. “Here, just —” he presses his lips onto Niall’s, tasting chocolate and whipped and what he has come to recognize is Niall as well, feeling his back being pressed against the wall of the store gently.

“Gotta give me a warning sometime,” Niall says breathlessly when they pull apart. “I got a bad knee, you could take me out one of these days.”

“I’ll do my best,” Zayn says, laughing at Niall’s wide eyes.

Elise tells them there’s an art gallery open if they want to check it out, someone she used to know with all their own art. “Wanna go?” Zayn asks, glancing to Niall.

Niall nods. “Yeah, I’m down,” he says.

 

It’s just a few blocks again, so they leave the car parked as they walk back onto the streets — after first saying goodbye to Elise.

“Be nice to this one, yeah? I like him,” Elise tells Zayn, who in turn blushes, kissing her cheek before they go out onto the sidewalk.

“Why New York?” Zayn asks, breaking the silence that’s lapsed between them.

Niall looks over at him, his breath coming out in small puffs — noticeable in the cold air. “Dunno,” he says, shrugging. “I just liked it, I guess. It’s so different from what I’m used to, you know? And Louis loves it here, so I thought I’d give it a shot.”

Zayn tries to imagine, then, what it would be like if Niall hadn’t showed up. He doesn’t think about it too long, not wanting to focus on it too much as they round the corner of the next street. 

The doors to the gallery are open, leading up to the exhibit as the two of them go up — throwing out their now empty cups into the garbage.

He feels a little underdressed, everyone else not wearing jeans and sweaters. But Niall doesn’t seem to notice, and if he does, he doesn’t particularly seem to care — already looking at one of the pictures as Zayn follows. 

It’s good art, Zayn thinks as he feels Niall’s thumb brush the back of his hand. He hasn’t been to a show in, fuck, a really long time now that he thinks about it. Not since his first year, when his art teacher had invited their class to their own show. He’d dragged Louis along, who had spent the duration of the evening complaining that his feet hurt and eating the food from the buffet, but it was nice.

There’s a section for paintings — then another for photographs. Zayn looks through the small pamphlet he was given when they’d first walked inside. _Kate Glass_ he reads, reading over her small biography on the back.

“Didn’t you take art in school?” Niall asks, taking him from his thoughts as Zayn’s head snaps up.

“I, uh — yeah, in my first year,” Zayn answers. “Just a few courses, nothing big,” he adds.

Niall’s staring at one particular piece before he looks over at Zayn. “I like this one,” he says simply.

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, standing beside him now. There’s people around them chatting, their voices echoing in the large space.

“I mean — I don’t _get it_ ,” Niall continues as Zayn smiles, biting his lower lip. “But I like it.”

“It’s good,” Zayn says in agreement. He wants to reach out and take Niall’s hand but doesn’t — instead fiddling with the pamphlet as they continue walking through. 

“Shit,” Niall says under his breath — now moved onto another painting. This one’s different than all the others — just a lot of bright colours in a sky, somewhere on the lake, he thinks to himself. “I like this one too.”

“It’s only —” Zayn starts, looking at the price. “Three thousand dollars.”

Niall blinks. “Jesus,” he says, soliciting a few looks from the people around them.

It continues on like this, Zayn and Niall walking through her art. Occasionally Niall will ask him a question and Zayn will respond with what little art knowledge he has — and it’s nice, he decides. 

Eventually they see who the Kate Glass is in question, talking to a few people as Niall takes one last look at the art — wanting to go back and look at that one he’d seen before, he tells Zayn as he goes. “You go,” Zayn tells him. “I wanna just — talk to her for a minute.” 

Niall nods, smiling a bit before he walks off, hands in his pocket and seemingly without a care in the world.

“Hi,” Kate says as Zayn approaches, smiling brightly. 

“Hi,” Zayn starts, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m Zayn, a friend of Elise’s? She said we should come check this out tonight.”

Immediately Zayn watches as Kate’s face softens. “Ah, of course. How do you know Elise?” she asks, putting down her now empty glass on the small table next to her. 

“I go to her coffee shop sometimes,” Zayn explains. “Or — to do homework, I guess.”

“She is something else, isn’t she?” Kate asks. “I did one of my paintings for her — the one on the lake?”

“Really?” Zayn asks, looking over his shoulder to try and see it again. “I really liked that one.”

“It’s from this cottage we go to sometimes, up north when she gets a few weeks off every summer,” Kate explains.

Zayn pauses, brows furrowing. “She’s my mom,” Kate adds, rather helpfully. Zayn blinks.

“Oh, right, I should’ve — I didn’t know that, actually,” he says.

Kate laughs. “It’s fine. She came yesterday the whole five hours so I told her to take the night off tonight,” she tells Zayn. “Are you an artist too?”

“Erm, kind of,” Zayn says. “I used to paint a lot — before I got really busy with school. I haven’t in a while, though,” he admits sheepishly.

“Well I mean — if you ever want anything, I can take a look at your art sometime for you,” Kate says.

“Right, yeah, that’d be great,” Zayn says, turning to look back at Niall. He’s waiting patiently, kicking at the floor as Zayn clears his throat. “I should um, go, though. It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” Kate says. “I’ll tell my mom you dropped by.”

“Thanks,” Zayn says, giving her a final wave before he joins Niall again. 

“Didn’t know you painted,” is the first thing Niall says.

“Were you eavesdropping?” Zayn asks, giving Niall a look.

“Never,” Niall says quickly as they start out the doors. “Very impolite to do that, you know.”

Zayn hums, not quite convinced as he feels Niall take his hand before they start out the doors. It’s dark now, getting late as Zayn yawns into the back of his hand despite his attempts not to. Niall looks at him.

“Alright, then,” Niall says as they start back to his car.

“What?” Zayn asks.

“We are taking you home because clearly you can’t keep your eyes open,” Niall says.

Zayn makes a noise of protest, shaking his head. “I only work five hours tomorrow, it’s fine,” he says.

“Nope,” Niall says, shaking his head. “I’m not buying it. Let’s go.”

Zayn pouts most of the way back to the car. But he doesn’t have much to complain about, not when Niall’s holding his hand again — humming quietly to the radio as Zayn listens silently from the front seat.

 

“Wanna come inside? Have some tea?” Zayn offers when they reach the front door to the apartment. 

Niall shakes his head. “It’s a first date, Zayn.”

Zayn looks at him. “And your point is…” he trails off.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Niall says, but he’s grinning.

Zayn ignores the part of him that doesn’t want Niall to go, instead leaning against the doorframe as he nods. “After work?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Niall answers.

They don’t say anything for a few moments, and Zayn takes the time to lean in — putting a hand on Niall’s cheek lightly, pressing his forehead against his own. He’s about to lean in and kiss him but pulls away at the last second, laughing when he sees Niall’s face fall immediately.

Zayn doesn’t have much time to recover, though, because Niall is muttering “such a fucking tease —” before he’s tugging on Zayn’s waist, pulling him closer and kissing him.

This could become a habit for them, Zayn thinks as he brings his hand back up to Niall’s cheek — shuddering slightly when he feels Niall run his tongue along Zayn’s lower lip. He opens his mouth easily in response, not complaining in the slightest when Niall’s got him pressed up against the wall beside the door — his head fuzzy and all he can think about is how good Niall tastes.

“I should — go,” Niall says, pulling away a little.

“Hmm, not yet,” Zayn says, voice quiet as he brings a gentle hand behind Niall’s neck — pulling him closer so they’re kissing again.

Niall’s just so warm — so pliant and soft to touch, Zayn thinks as he tries to take him all in, tries to remember any and every detail he can. Teasingly, he takes Niall’s lower lip between his own, beginning to suck on it as Niall groans — the sound going straight to Zayn’s dick.

“Oh, good Christ —” comes a voice and suddenly they’re pulling apart, Niall making a rather high pitched, surprised sound when they look to see Harry standing there, looking disgusted and slightly amused while holding some grocery bags. “Don’t look, Liam. Zayn and Niall are about to touch dicks in the hallway, of all places.”

“Oh, my fucking _God_ ,” Zayn groans, Niall laughing into his neck as he shakes his head. 

“What,” Harry asks, glancing at them briefly. “I’m not the one sucking face, now, am I?”

“Do not call it that,” Zayn says, not moving his face where it’s buried in his hands. “In fact, just — stop speaking, maybe.”

He can see Harry making a face where he’s looking between his fingers, Liam not far behind Harry with his bike in tow. 

“So I’m assuming the date went well?” Liam asks.

Whatever was left of Zayn’s half hard dick is, sufficient to say, gone, as he shakes his head. 

“I think he’s ignoring us,” Harry comments. “Nice to see you, Niall,” he adds, probably a bit too cheerful as the two of them step inside.

When both Liam and Harry are gone Niall finally looks at Zayn, face no longer buried in his neck as he laughs. His hair is a mess — lips red and raw and fuck, Zayn does _not_ want him to leave right now. 

“I’ll, um — text you tomorrow,” Niall says, taking a step back as he straightens out his shirt. 

“Yeah, you should do that,” Zayn says, clearing his throat. “I’ll try and see if Nick can let me off early again, maybe.”

Niall’s blushing again, biting the corner of his mouth as he starts toward the stairs. “Alright, well. Bye, Zayn,” he says.

“Bye, Niall,” Zayn parrots back before he steps inside, closing the door as he leans against it — letting out a long, extended sigh until he feels his phone buzz from inside his pocket.

 _couldn’t even wait til you got inside? honestly, zayn_ Louis sent him. _that’s just unsanitary_

 _shut up_ Zayn sends back before he goes into his room.

— 

Work the next day is hectic, to say the least. They’ve nearly got everyone working — even Nick out serving tables when he’s not in the kitchen cooking, people waiting outside the door to get a seat.

“Why the fuck are there so many people here?” Louis asks when him and Zayn are getting drinks together.

“Don’t know,” Zayn says. “Maybe they think this is someplace else? Like that diner from that movie?”

Louis pauses, brows furrowing. “Very descriptive, Zayn,” he says.

“If we don’t get this under control, I’m setting this place on fire,” Nick adds.

Louis looks at him. “Burning down your place of work and source of income to fuel your continuing hipster needs for things like scarves and floral print shirts. Brilliant, Nick, truly,” he deadpans.

“Fuck off,” Nick spits. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Calum’s taking the order from a table, Zayn getting his own notepad as he sends a quick text to Niall saying he’ll be a bit late, and that this is something equivalent to the shift from hell.

He doesn’t have time to check for a reply before he’s covering Jesy’s table, really needing a fucking cigarette and to get out of this fucking diner.

— 

Eventually he’s allowed to go, when the line is gone and Louis assures him that they will be fine — and that he will keep Nick away from anything flammable. Zayn leaves, heading out the door and promising himself he’s never, ever going back there.

When he gets home Liam’s left a plate of food for him in the fridge. As Zayn goes into his room, he gets a text from Niall saying he’s on his way over. Picking at his half warm food, he falls onto his bed, exhausted.

He hears Harry talking when the door opens, Niall’s soon following but Zayn can’t find it in himself to move as he sees his door open slowly.

“You alive?” Niall asks slowly.

“No,” Zayn responds.

“Well,” Niall says, walking across the room as he kicks off his shoes, sitting on the edge of his bed. “That’s a bit of a shame, then.”

Zayn finds himself oddly nervous, making a face as he shrugs. “Long day,” he says.

Niall hums, looking at the plate on Zayn’s stomach. “You hungry?” he asks, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

Zayn groans, lifting it up off his stomach and onto the small table beside his bed. “Not really,” he says, feeling Niall’s hand rubbing small, gentle circles into his hip. 

Niall continues, slowly working his way under Zayn’s shirt as he makes a noise of appreciation — shifting a little to give Niall more room to fit on the bed. “I was thinking —” Niall starts as Zayn opens his eyes, Niall now beside him on the bed.

“What?” Zayn asks, turning on his side to face Niall now.

“We should probably do some tutoring, you know. Calculus,” he says.

Zayn snorts, nodding. “We could, yeah,” he says after a moment.

But Niall seems to find another way to occupy himself, pressing his lips to Zayn’s neck as he inhales sharply — closing his eyes for a few moments.

“This isn’t calculus,” Zayn comments, laughing quietly as Niall lightly bites down onto the skin of his neck.

“Kinda better than calculus though, isn’t it?” Niall asks, soothing the small bite mark he’d left on Zayn’s skin with his tongue.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Zayn breathes out. “I’m not — complaining,” he manages to get out finally.

He brings a finger to Niall’s chin, kissing him where they’re both pressed into the pillows — Niall’s lips still warm and soft like they were yesterday, tasting like coffee and toothpaste and that distinctly Niall taste, Zayn thinks to himself.

Niall’s got a gentle hand on Zayn’s waist, his thumb rubbing small circles against the skin — and it’s like Zayn can’t stop this feeling inside of him — this constant need to be around Niall, to be touching him at all times; he’s not even sure when that started but it’s been there awhile, he realizes.

“Miss me today?” Niall teases when Zayn licks into his mouth.

“Gonna keep talking or are you going to keep kissing me?” Zayn asks, tone challenging as Niall laughs, again, before pressing his lips to Zayn’s once more.

After a few minutes Zayn’s already half hard in his jeans, the friction in each movement causing him to whine against Niall’s mouth. He tries to keep himself together. Niall, however, seems to notice as he palms Zayn’s dick through his jeans, grinning when Zayn makes a noise in response.

“Shit —” Zayn says, feeling Niall half hard against his hip and fuck, if he doesn’t do something about his dick — which is getting harder by the second, he might fucking pass out.

Niall’s got a hand on the button of his jeans, nearly getting it open until —

“Alright, so, Louis is coming over and we're getting pizza because he sounded close to murdering someone when I talked to him and we need you two to pick your pizza —” Harry starts rambling, because he never fucking knocks like a normal person, instead just barges right into whoever’s room at whatever time he very well pleases. “Am I — interrupting something?”

Zayn slaps a hand over his face, so fucking close to picking up the lamp from his bedside table and throwing it at Harry. He refrains if only because he can’t reach it over Niall.

“No,” Niall says, coughing into his fist. “We were doing — calculus.”

Harry eyes them for a moment, clearly not convinced. He doesn’t push it though, instead making his way back toward the door — possibly because of the glare Zayn is giving him, or because he’s put the pieces together and figured out they most certainly _were not_ doing calculus before he came in here.

“Right, well, come out in a few minutes and we can — you know. Figure out what’s going on with that pizza,” he says, giving them a ridiculous, very Harry grin before he walks out the door — leaving it very open, Zayn thinks to himself.

“I am —” Zayn starts. “So sorry. He never knocks. One time he came into my room completely naked because he thought I stole his shaving razor. I don’t think he’s ever learned.”

Niall smiles, shifting as he sits up slowly, his cheeks about as red as Zayn’s feel. Liam and Harry are bickering in the kitchen, most likely over if they should get garlic bread or not, because Harry _always_ wants fucking garlic bread and Liam refuses to pay five dollars for it. 

Zayn sighs.

“Should go in there before a fight breaks out between them,” he says.

“That serious?” Niall asks, looking toward the door.

“You’ve no idea,” Zayn says, leaning over to kiss Niall’s forehead. “We can — continue this later, if you want,” he adds.

“I do,” Niall says. “I very much want.”

“Alright then. We can — later,” Zayn promises, getting off the bed as he takes a sweater off his chair, him and Niall walking out into the kitchen.

Later for them doesn’t come, however, mostly because Louis insists on staying — picking out a movie and forcing the five of them to sit in the living room.

“I think I ate too much,” Harry whines from where he’s sitting on the couch.

“Shouldn’t have eaten all that garlic bread,” Louis says simply. Harry sticks out his tongue at him, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“What are we even watching,” Liam asks beside Harry as the menu for the movie loads.

“I’ll have you know this is a classic film I’ve chosen for us to watch tonight, Payno,” Louis tells him firmly.

Beside Zayn on the other couch Niall holds back a laugh where his face is pressed into Zayn’s arm lightly.

“Didn’t answer my question,” Liam replies.

“Oh my God,” Niall says, voice muffled by Zayn’s sweater as he talks. “Step Brothers _again_? Honestly, Louis, I think it’s time for an intervention.”

Harry makes a face, as Liam groans into his hands. Zayn, however, watches in amusement as Louis flicks the side of Liam’s head.

“If you don’t like it, you can leave the band,” Louis says.

Liam looks at him, confused, before Harry bursts into laughter from his end of the couch, his feet tucked underneath Louis’ legs. (“Get your disgusting feet out from underneath my legs, Harold,” Louis had griped as soon as Harry had moved them there. “But they’re cold, _Lewis_ ,” Harry had argued, to which Louis had rolled his eyes — claiming that this is the first and only time he’s ever going to be allowed to do this, so Harry better appreciate it.)

“Imagine us in a band,” Harry comments. “We’d be a fucking mess.”

“Never get anything done,” Niall adds.

“Hey now —” Louis interrupts, looking between them. “I think we’d be fucking fantastic. Take over the world, we would.”

“I agree with Louis,” Zayn pipes in.

“That’s why you’re my favourite,” Louis says, grinning as Harry makes a sound or protest and says, “it’s rude to pick favourites, Lou.”

“It’s not rude,” Louis says.

“Oh my God,” Liam mumbles. “I’m never going to hear any part of this movie, am I?”

“We have seen it about a million times,” Harry comments.

“More than that, I think,” Zayn adds in agreement.

“Fuckers, all of you. This movie is a cinematic masterpiece,” Louis says.

“What kind of music would we even sing?” Niall asks.

“Sing where, Niall, you’re making no sense,” Louis asks in response.

“In our made up band,” Niall clarifies.

“Rock,” Liam suggests. Everyone frowns, shaking their heads.

“Niall would make a Christian rap album, for sure,” Harry says.

Zayn laughs, unable to help himself. “God, that would be terrible, wouldn’t it?” he says.

“It would be the best fucking Christian rap album ever, fuck off,” Niall says, pinching Zayn’s arm lightly.

“Pop music,” Louis says. “We would sing pop music, I reckon.”

All five of them nod, in agreement. Something settles between the five of them before Harry shifts his feet, Louis complaining loudly as Liam throws popcorn at them to shut them up — Niall attempting to intervene as Zayn just laughs, shaking his head. He doesn’t even bother paying attention to the movie. 

Later, when the movie is all finished, Zayn looks to where he’s got a half asleep Niall pressed up against his side and he nudges him, carefully.

“Ni,” he says quietly. Niall groans, shaking his head. “You can’t sleep out on this couch all night.”

“Sure I can,” Niall mumbles in response.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Zayn coaxes, one arm around Niall’s waist as they slowly shuffle back to Zayn’s room. Harry and Louis watch them go from the couch.

“Goodnight, love birds,” Louis calls after them. Zayn flips him off, Harry laughing delightedly. Zayn kicks his bedroom door closed.

“Sleep,” Niall says, blinking his eyes tiredly.

“I know, I know,” Zayn tells him, slowly getting into his bed as Niall wraps both his arms around his waist, tugging him close.

Niall mutters a goodnight into Zayn’s chest as he kisses Niall’s head briefly, the two of them drifting off to sleep with the sounds of Harry and Louis bickering somewhere in the background.

— 

And so the days go on, and Zayn finds them filled with school work, and a lot more Niall — not that he’s complaining about that.

“Isn’t Niall with you?” Harry asks when he comes home from work one afternoon as Zayn takes off his jacket; the weather getting warmer outside now.

“No?” Zayn asks, taking a piece of carrot off of Harry’s plate. “Why would you just assume he is?”

“Because you two are like — fucking attached at the hip these days,” he says simply, flicking a piece of celery at Zayn.

“I am still my own person,” Zayn informs Harry, taking a piece of cucumber. “What did you do, rob a vegetable garden?”

“I bought groceries,” Harry says, only looking mildly offended. “Ever heard of that before?”

“Not sure I have,” Zayn teases. 

“So where is Niall then?” 

“Has some things to do I guess, I don’t know — I didn’t really ask,” Zayn says, shrugging.

Harry smirks. “Right, well, have fun doing things by yourself, then.”

Zayn hums, grinning at him before he takes one last piece of celery, sticking his tongue out at Harry before he goes into his room — putting his bag onto his bed as he takes out his laptop. He’s got a few emails from the school, some from tutoring with more students — along with some from his mom, pictures of his sisters and things like that.

He pauses for a moment, scrolling through the pictures. Apparently they painted the dining room a dark red. Zayn reads as he looks at the pictures of his mom and sisters painting — Doniya seems to have had the most trouble with it, his mom tells him as he laughs to himself quietly.

He takes his phone from beside his computer on the desk, dialing a familiar number. It rings once, twice, then —

“Hello?” his mom answers.

“Hi, mom,” Zayn says.

“Zayn, darling,” his mom starts, her voice soft as always. “How are you? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Zayn says. “Saw you’re painting the living room? How’s that going?”

His mom laughs, and it’s here he can hear his sisters in the background — though what they’re saying he has no idea before she speaks again. “It’s good, we just finished it yesterday,” she says. “How are you? How’s school?”

“It’s all fine,” Zayn reassures her. “Got a few tests this week — and a paper but, not much.”

“Sounds like a little much,” his mom comments, but doesn’t push it. 

He misses her. Zayn swallows, gripping his phone a little tighter as he leans back in his chair. 

“What are you up to?” Zayn asks after a few moments.

“Just cleaning up dinner. We had that chicken dish you like,” his mom tells him.

“Did you save me any?” Zayn teases, hearing her laugh.

“Would if I could have — but your darling sisters ate all of it,” his mom replies.

He misses dinners at home. Generally it was his sisters all trying to talk over one another but it was nice to just — sit, and be with them all for a little while, Zayn thinks to himself as he takes in a deep breath. 

“Terrible,” Zayn says, smiling to himself as he runs a hand through his hair.

“So are you still doing your art?” his mom asks, her voice quieter this time — almost cautious. 

Zayn clears his throat, shifting in his chair as he closes his eyes for a few moments. She always asks him, always makes a point of doing so, that much has never changed.

He glances over at his desk — sees the sketches he hasn’t touched in weeks. But he does notice the sketchbook he’d opened a few days ago, a few lines along the page as he pauses, looking it over briefly, running a fingertip along the page. 

“A little, yeah,” he answers finally.

“That’s good,” his mom says — her voice genuine. “I have to go — run some errands, do you want to talk to your father really quick?”

Zayn pauses, running his tongue over his lip, considering. “Sure,” he says, but he knows he’s going to regret it.

“I’ll pass you over now,” his mom says. “Love you, babe.”

“Love you too,” Zayn says, hearing a few hushed voices until his dad’s voice comes a few moments later.

“Zayn?” his dad asks.

Immediately Zayn feels himself stiffen, his whole body feeling tight as he takes in a deep breath. “Hi, dad,” he says.

“How are you?” he asks in his usual, civil tone.

“Good, yeah. Just got home from work,” Zayn tells him.

There’s always been this weird tension between him and his father, the kind that they’ve never talked about — just let it build up over the years, untouched. But every time Zayn talks to him he can feel it, like a wall between the two of them.

“That sounds good,” his dad says. “How’s school?”

“It’s going well,” Zayn says.

“Keeping up with all your classes and work?” his dad asks, because how fucking typical of him, Zayn thinks to himself.

“Yeah,” Zayn says simply, picking at a loose thread on his jeans.

“Glad to hear it,” his dad says. There’s an unspoken question between them, the one Zayn always knows his dad wants to ask — but never does. ‘ _Are you still doing your art_ ’ or _are you making sure you don’t focus on your art too much instead of your studies_ ’ and it always pisses Zayn off.

It’s here, though, Zayn can see clear as day — how much his dad wanted him to be a doctor, and how much Zayn had let that affect him. How, despite his dreams of not being a doctor, he’d decided to do what his father wanted. And it’s so fucking cliche and Zayn _hates_ that, hates that he’s let his father control this much of his life — that he let his father’s opinion sway his own wants for his future.

“Should go, though. Got some stuff to do,” Zayn says.

“Of course. Good to hear from you, Zayn,” his dad says.

“You too. Bye, dad,” Zayn says before he hangs up — promptly tossing his phone onto his bed and sinking further into his chair.

— 

Saturday morning they decide to go to the library, for whatever reason. Louis seems to be under the impression that the five of them together in the same room means they will get some work done — and since Zayn isn’t in the mood to crush Louis’ dreams today, Zayn doesn’t tell him they’re going to get absolutely fuck all accomplished.

“I’m even bringing my highlighters,” Harry says as they start down the stairs. Niall is pulled in front of their building to pick them up, as he texted Zayn about half a minute ago to inform him.

Zayn raises an eyebrow, holding back a laugh. “Must be a big day,” he jokes.

Harry scrunches his face, glaring at Zayn. “Was going to offer you one but now I don’t think I will,” he says. “Say, Liam — would you like a highlighter to use?”

Liam blinks, before his face brightens noticeably. “Shit, yeah, I actually forgot some —” he says, reaching out and taking one. “Thanks, Harry.”

“You fuckers planned that, didn’t you,” Zayn snaps as they get into the car.

He scowls at Louis, who’s in the front seat, Niall giving him a wink before Zayn piles into the back seat rather uncomfortably between Liam and Harry. 

“Just a warning before we go —” Harry starts. “Zayn’s terribly crabby today.”

“It’s eight in the bleeding morning,” Zayn responds. “Of course I’m fucking crabby.”

“Easy,” Liam says, buckling himself up, the rest of them following as Niall starts off driving down the street again.

“Say, Harry — do you have any of those highlighters? I need some for this English paper I’m writing,” Louis asks, turning to look at Harry in the back seat.

“Are you fucking _kidding me_ ,” Zayn asks. Harry grins.

“Of course I do, _Lewis_. I’d be happy to share,” he says, handing a few to him as Louis smiles in response, tucking them into his bag.

They stop off for food, picking up some bagels and coffees to take with them as Zayn sees Niall yawn from the front seat. 

The library is nearly empty, the five of them soon locating to Zayn’s usual table as they unload their things. He sits beside Niall, near the end of the table, feeling as though he could fall asleep at any given second as he sits in his chair.

He didn’t sleep well last night; the conversation with his dad replaying in his head over the past few nights. Not to mention he hasn’t seen Niall in almost three days, which feels like a lot — if Zayn’s being honest. So he nearly sighs with relief when he sees Niall pulling up a chair beside him, eyes puffy and sleepy as he leans over to kiss Zayn’s cheek for a few moments. 

“Gross,” Louis comments.

Zayn ignores him, taking a drink of his coffee as they all settle into their chairs. 

— 

By some miracle, they manage to get at least some work done — Liam shushing any of them if they talk for too long, his brow permanently wrinkled. There’s a few more people here now, the sky dark and threatening rain as Zayn yawns into the back of his hand.

“I’m bored,” Harry announces, closing his laptop.

Zayn smirks, Louis giving him a look as he rolls his eyes. “Do your work, then, if you’re bored,” he suggests, tapping Harry’s computer with his pen.

“I don’t want to write this paper anymore,” Harry whines, rubbing a hand along his face. “I want a nap.”

“ _Christ_ ,” Louis breathes out. “You’re like a three year old, know that? Almost as bad as my sisters.”

Harry pouts, but doesn’t say any more as he puts his head down onto the the top of the table without another word on the subject. Niall snorts, looking at him before he turns another page of his textbook wordlessly. 

Zayn’s trying to do biology but his mind isn’t really all there, too focused on the hand Niall’s had on his thigh for most of the morning — rubbing the same, teasing circles again and again. He’s been doing that since they’ve gotten there and truth be told it’s driving Zayn crazy, feeling the constant weight of Niall’s palm on his leg and not doing anything about it. He shifts in his chair, swallowing. Liam’s music is coming through his headphones as Zayn chews the end of his pen.

“That’s gross, Zayn,” Louis says after a moment.

Zayn looks up at Louis in confusion, blinking. “What,” he asks.

Louis sighs, pointing to Zayn’s pen. “Chewing your pen like a barbarian,” Louis explains. Harry, supposedly asleep next to him, starts laughing. “It’s bad for you teeth.”

“What are you, a dentist?” Zayn snaps.

“Shhhh,” Liam hisses, looking between Zayn and Louis.

Louis tosses a pen at Liam, who in turn points a threatening finger at Louis — which, surprisingly, shuts him up rather effectively. It’s a power only Liam Payne possesses, and Zayn has to admit he’s a little jealous — keeping this thought to himself as he runs a hand through his hair tiredly.

Five minutes later and no biology has been done, mostly thanks to Niall’s hand _still on his leg_. Zayn tries to even out his breathing. Doesn’t work, however, because he sounds like he’s been running a marathon the way he’s practically panting.

“Are you — alright,” Harry asks, peeking his eyes out from where he’s got an arm covering his face.

“Fine,” Zayn says quickly.

Harry gives him a look but doesn’t push it on account of Liam glaring at him once again. Instead, Harry flicks Liam’s elbow and opens his laptop again, adjusting his head scarf and at least pretending to be working as he focuses on his screen.

The thing _is_ — Zayn can’t fucking figure out if Niall’s doing this on purpose or not, because he’s been silent for the entire time of them being in this fucking library. Zayn glances over at him — hoping to telepathically communicate to him that _hey, you’re making my dick hard, please do something about it or fuck off, thanks_.

Doesn’t work, he finds as he turns back to his work again. He puts a headphone in, trying to will death upon himself as he ignores Louis’ constant tapping of his pen against the table. Zayn is so _fucking hard he’s going to die_.

But when he looks up a few minutes later, he finds Niall already looking at him — with a smirk on his lips and that little _fucker_. 

Two can play at that game, then, he thinks to himself as he takes in a deep breath. And, making sure Liam’s not paying attention to them — Zayn puts his hand over Niall’s, moving it slowly up his thigh until — well, until Niall’s fingers brush Zayn’s hard dick through his jeans.

Niall’s cheeks are flushed as he takes in a sharp breath, trying to at least look like he’s not on the verge of some sort of breakdown. He squeezes his hand somewhere on Zayn’s dick and — shit, Jesus, _okay_ , Zayn thinks.

“Louis —” Niall blurts, tone sharp.

Louis’ head snaps up as he looks at Niall, confused. “Yes?” he asks.

“Stop — tapping your fucking — pen,” Niall breathes out, and Zayn might be enjoying this more than he should be. 

Zayn, deciding it would be probably rude to continue to torture Niall any more, pulls his hand away as he looks at his textbook again, pointedly ignoring the boner still in his pants because biology is important, after all.

He starts writing down something or other until he looks over at Niall again, pausing when he sees the expression on his face. It’s a mixture of pain and arousal, Zayn thinks briefly as he puts his pen down slowly.

He doesn’t even attempt to be subtle as he stands, nearly knocking over the entire table in the process — Harry looking up when Zayn’s hip hits the table. However, Niall doesn’t seem to be catching on, not even when Zayn mutters the word “bathroom” because it’s the only place he can think of right now in his hazy state. 

Niall looks at him, clearly confused as he motions to the door — but Zayn shakes his head. He can’t exactly say ‘excuse me, I’d like to go suck Niall’s dick in the bathroom — I’ll be right back’ now can he?

Harry’s smirking, because even he knows and Niall still isn’t catching on as Zayn clears his throat, loudly.

“Do you need a cough drop there, Zayn?” Louis asks, but he’s grinning like the little shit he is.

Zayn nearly groans, giving Niall a look that hopefully conveys something along the lines of Niall, come _on_ you idiot as he closes his textbook impatiently.

Zayn shakes his head in response to Louis’ question and it’s here, _finally_ , Niall looks up and his eyes widen because he’s finally put the pieces together, it seems like.

“I — um,” Niall starts as he stands, shifting the entire table. “I have to go check something, on the computer,” he gets out after a few moments, untangling his headphones from his ears before letting them drop onto the table.

“Can’t you check it on your own computer?” Harry points out, his face looking as though it’s gonna break into two at how wide his smile is.

Zayn’s going to deck him. But not until after he sucks Niall’s dick, that’s the most important thing, right now.

“It doesn’t — work, it’s broken,” Niall huffs out, and before he can dig their hole any deeper he takes Zayn’s hand and they start walking away. Though where, Zayn has no fucking idea.

He gets an idea somewhere between the doors and front lobby, tugging on Niall’s hand and leading him through a few stacks of books.

They’re not running, per say, but by the time they reach the archive rooms Zayn is out of breath — going into one of the empty rooms and closing the door behind him. One of the perks of working in the library in his first year, he thinks to himself as Niall gives him a confused look.

“So this is — good,” Niall says slowly. “Because there’s no one here, so if you wanted to like, I don’t know, take the moment to kill me that would work,” he starts.

Zayn leans his head back against the door, shaking it. And before he can stop him Niall continues, clearly not finished as he doesn’t take his eyes off of Zayn. “It’s so fucking _dusty_ in here, where the fuck even are we? You’re lucky I don’t have any allergies, or anything, because I’m pretty sure everything in here is at least a thousand fucking years old —”

“Niall,” Zayn interjects, but Niall just continues to barrel on.

“You should really ask before you take someone up to one of these weird, creepy rooms, I mean — what if I’d been deathly allergic to dust? You should really ask people these things, Zayn —”

“ _Niall_.”

Niall begins again, but he's cut off, because Zayn takes Niall’s face in his hands and kisses him — no hesitation; just feeling Niall’s wet, hot, mouth against his own. 

“God,” Niall says, his eyes closed and he’s gripping at Zayn’s waist like it’s the only solid thing he can hold onto.

“Do you ever stop talking?” Zayn asks, biting down on Niall’s lower lip as he whimpers in response.

Niall laughs, pushing Zayn up against the door and yeah, okay, that’s better. He doesn’t hold back anymore, his hand moving down Niall’s back and giving his ass a firm squeeze. Niall takes in a sharp breath.

“ _Jesus_ ,” he breathes out.

“Wanna —” Zayn starts, getting distracted by Niall’s lips as he kisses them, briefly. “Suck you off.”

Niall pauses, looking at him, lips slightly parted in surprise. “What, now?”

“No time like the present, is there?” Zayn asks.

“If someone walks in here, I’m gonna kill you,” Niall says.

Zayn smirks, winking as Niall moves to lean against the door for support — Zayn kissing him as he palms Niall’s already half hard cock through his jeans. It’s a few minutes to work Niall up to it, Zayn carefully undoing the button of his jeans as Niall rocks his hips up in response.

Zayn hums, slipping one hand under the band of Niall’s boxers as he starts stroking his dick in slow, steady strokes.

“Fuck,” Niall curses. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are closed, head tilted back and there’s a bit of sweat on his forehead and he looks so fucking hot, Zayn thinks as he starts sucking on the skin of Niall’s neck. “It’s been — so long, Zayn, _please_.”

And, not wanting to keep him waiting, Zayn runs his thumb along the head of Niall’s cock — precome leaking into his hand. He slowly sinks onto his knees, his free hand tugging on Niall’s jeans as he moves his hips — making it easier for Zayn to get them off. He takes his hand off Niall’s dick for a few seconds to put Niall’s jeans and boxers into a pile beside him.

He braces his hands on Niall’s thighs, leaving half moons in his skin where his nails press in, but Niall doesn’t seem to notice in the slightest — he's breathing so heavily a blush has started his neck and onto his chest. He puts one of his hands at the base of Niall’s cock, putting his lips around the tip and pressing his tongue into the slit. 

Niall shifts, hips bucking as Zayn pauses — but when Niall doesn’t move again he takes more of Niall in, hollowing his cheeks and trying to open his throat — make it more comfortable for him. He hasn’t done this in months, he thinks, hearing Niall moan above him.

Zayn flattens his tongue, taking a little more than half of Niall into his mouth as he feels Niall’s fingers tug on his hair encouragingly, if the noises he’s currently making are anything to go by.

It’s a few more minutes till he can take Niall fully into his mouth, working up to a rhythm — one hand still braced on Niall’s thigh to anchor himself and keep his knees on the ground. 

“Gonna — come,” Niall warns, voice breaking as he speaks.

Zayn doesn’t move, just feels Niall jerk forward when he comes — hitting the back of Zayn’s throat, his hand still gripping Zayn’s hair. He waits for Niall to come back down, sliding down the door with this blissed out look on his face. Zayn presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Think you can go again?” Zayn asks, laughing when Niall bites onto his clothed shoulder.

“I don’t think I can here,” Niall says. “Too many books — makes me feel like I’m in a tomb.”

“My place,” Zayn suggests, because he’s feeling a little desperate at this point and cannot think of anywhere else.

“Okay — shit, yeah, okay,” Niall says, putting on his pants and following Zayn back out — walking back to their table.

They nearly stumble into the table, Zayn’s hand intertwined with Niall’s as Louis looks up at them from his book.

“What are you —” he starts asking, seeing them beginning to pack their bags.

“Where are you going?” Harry asks.

Zayn and Niall exchange looks, Liam taking out one of his headphones to listen now.

“I forgot a pen at home,” Zayn says. “So we’re going back to get it.”

“Oh my God,” Louis says, snorting.

“I have a pen here you can use, it’s fine,” Liam offers and bless Liam, honestly, looking at them with wide, confused eyes.

Louis nearly loses it then, laughing as Harry turns to look at Liam now, incredulous. 

“I don’t think Zayn want’s _your_ pen, Liam,” Harry says.

“Oh my God,” Louis repeats, giving Zayn a look that somehow conveys pride, disgust, and something else he can’t quite put his finger on.

“What do you mean, it’s just a pen. I have black, if you don’t like blue,” Liam continues.

“We’ll be back,” Niall says, practically dragging Zayn with him as he starts toward the doors.

“What are you even talking about Harry, you’re making no sense,” Liam’s arguing.

“They’re going to go _shag_ , Liam, honestly,” Louis says, Zayn catching sight of him tossing his now empty coffee cup at Liam’s head.

“ _What_ —” Liam starts, but Harry’s too busy laughing to reply at this rate.

“Well they can’t very well do it in the middle of the library, now can they?” Louis is asking and Liam’s rather offended, “you’re so inappropriate sometimes, _Jesus_ ,” by the time Zayn and Niall make it out the door, and toward Niall’s car.

— 

The drive to Zayn’s apartment feels torturously long, sitting in the front seat and not being able to touch Niall — instead watching his set jaw as he grips the steering wheel.

Zayn’s not even one step through the door when Niall kisses him again, desperate. Zayn tries not to fall over by the sheer weight of it. Instead he lets Niall begin to unbutton his shirt, muttering something that sounds like “bedroom, now, please,” which, Zayn isn’t going to argue with.

By the time they make it to his room Niall’s got his shirt practically off, pulling his own over his head as Zayn takes a step to sit on the edge of his bed. 

“You’re — so hot,” Niall says, moving so his legs are straddling Zayn’s waist.

Zayn hums, tossing Niall’s shirt onto the floor easily. “Tell me something I don’t know, then,” he teases with a wink. Niall groans, but he’s grinning as he leans over to kiss Zayn again.

It feels like his heart is going a fucking mile a minute, the way Niall’s touching him — his fingers exploring every inch of Zayn, like he’s trying to put everything to detail; mapping him out and it makes Zayn’s head spin. 

Their pants come off next, Zayn’s first and Niall’s second — each pair thrown onto the floor as Zayn pauses for a moment. Niall’s sitting there, watching Zayn’s every move as he runs his thumb along Niall’s jawline slowly, carefully, before moving to touch his knee. His left one; the ‘bad knee’ as Niall has taken to nick naming it.

“Zayn —” Niall starts, swallowing as Zayn looks up at him.

“This okay?” Zayn asks slowly.

Niall nods, and Zayn pauses before he leans down — pressing his lips to the prominent scar there, long and jagged. He runs his lips down it, slowly, unsure if it hurts or if Niall can even feel it as he holds one of Niall’s hands in his own.

He doesn’t know much about the surgery, all that he does know Louis mentioned it once — said Niall described it as “one of the most horrific things I’ve ever fucking been through” so Zayn hadn’t questioned Niall about it. 

“Hey,” Niall’s voice comes, soft, as he tilts Zayn’s chin up slowly.

Zayn presses one last kiss to Niall’s knee before he kisses him again — both hands on his cheeks, trying to contain Niall in his grasp, somehow, even though that’s impossible to do, and Zayn knows that. Niall’s so much at once, so fucking bright as Zayn presses his lips to his own again, tasting salt on Niall’s lips that wasn’t there before.

He’s so beautiful here, like this — his hair a mess and looking at Zayn with those big, bright eyes Zayn loves so fucking much. Niall carefully runs a hand along Zayn’s side, tracing the designs and ink there — his eyes following each one as he carefully leans Zayn back onto the bed.

Zayn goes easily, not even a moment’s hesitation as he reaches for his bedside table — pausing for just a moment before he feels Niall shift.

“Here, let me —” Niall says, smiling for a moment before taking out a condom and some lube, leaning over to kiss Zayn’s cheek for a moment.

“You a mind reader too?” Zayn asks. 

Niall rolls his eyes, somehow managing to do so fondly, as he opens the bottle of lube — squeezing some onto his fingers. Zayn can feel his heart pounding in his chest with anticipation — taking in a deep breath as Niall leans forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of Zayn’s mouth.

“Ready?” Niall asks.

Zayn nods, eyes not leaving Niall’s. Niall doesn’t need much else to go off of except for that, his finger running over Zayn’s hole — making him gasp in response, clenching down on nothing.

Niall presses his forehead to Zayn’s temple, lightly, pressing his first finger in.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Zayn breathes out, voice shaking. 

Niall keeps going, moving his first finger around slowly, carefully, trying to figure out a rhythm as Zayn tries to breathe. It’s not his first time, not by any means, but it’s different with Niall — makes his head feel fuzzy, everything else blurry and out of focus, everything except for Niall.

It burns by the time Niall works his second finger inside him, Zayn gripping Niall’s hand — pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist. But Niall doesn’t stop, keeps going as Zayn rocks onto his fingers in response. 

It’s raining outside, the raindrops loud against the window as Zayn closes his eyes — feels Niall’s warm lips against his temple again, whispering words he can’t even register as Niall slides his third finger inside him. It’s so much, but somehow not yet enough as Zayn chokes out a breath in response.

“Right here,” Niall says, his voice louder than anything else in Zayn’s head. “I’m right here.”

That nearly sends Zayn over the edge, his cock already painfully hard against his stomach as he bites on his lower lip to steady himself. After Niall’s worked up a rhythm he pulls his fingers out, Zayn nearly whimpering as he leans his head back against his pillow — hearing the sound of a condom wrapper opening.

It’s not that long until Niall’s ready, his hand back in Zayn’s and lips at his ear — kissing the skin behind it as Zayn shivers in response.

“You ok?” Niall asks. 

“I’m okay,” Zayn assures him, kissing him for a few moments.

It takes away from the nerves, kissing Niall — makes the pounding in his chest lessen as Niall pushes into him, slow and careful, how it’s always been with Niall — Zayn thinks. Zayn sucks in a sharp breath, the burn and pleasure missing together as he feels Niall’s lips on his temple again saying those still quiet words.

He pulls out, briefly, before pushing back in again as Zayn clenches around him. He feels warm all over, like he can’t even control it — his entire body feeling too big and too small for all that he’s feeling at once. 

Niall starts moving faster, pulling out, then pushing back in and Zayn’s so close, so, so _close_ he can feel his orgasm building in his stomach as he grips Niall’s hand tighter, almost like a warning.

And it’s when Niall grips his hand in return, kissing the point where Zayn’s neck meets his collarbones does he come — spilling all over his stomach, Niall following a few moments later he as he pulls out, breathing heavily and nearly collapsing on top of Zayn.

They stay there for a while, not saying anything as Zayn runs his hand along Niall’s back — his fingertips playing an imaginary keyboard along his skin, to some tune he’s never heard before, keeping in time with each rise and fall of Niall’s chest.

They fall asleep a little after that, Zayn waking up to Niall’s arm around his waist — face pressed into his chest. He moves slowly, being careful not to wake Niall as he walks toward his desk. There’s still piles of stuff along the top of it, but he’s looking for one thing in particular.

He finds it in his second drawer, underneath a bunch of books he doesn’t ever remember reading. There’s one of his sketch pads, this one not yet full as he takes his few drawing pencil’s from the mug where he keeps the rest of his pens and paintbrushes.

The sun’s out now, warm and welcomed against Zayn’s slightly cold skin as he moves back onto the bed. Niall doesn’t wake, instead just keeps sleeping as Zayn smiles to himself silently. 

It feels strangely foreign to him now, holding the pencil in his fingers — almost as if he’s learning how to ride a bicycle for the second time. He moves slow, each line taking its time as he chews the inside of his cheek in concentration. It’s not much, just a quick sketch of Niall’s feet where they’re coming out from underneath the covers — the sheets rumpled where they’re still wrapped around him.

He hears Louis’ voice coming through the front door, complaining loudly about his “lack of transportation” as Zayn smirks, tucking his sketchpad under the pillow he’s sitting on.

“Fucking Louis,” Niall mumbles, blinking awake as Zayn laughs quietly.

“I sure hope you’re not fucking Louis,” Zayn says, pressing a kiss to the inside of Niall’s knee. “Then we’d need to have a chat, I think.”

Niall narrows his eyes at Zayn, pulling the sheets closer as he shakes his head. “Sleep,” He says.

“Not unless you want Louis to come in here and see you naked,” Zayn says, slowly standing as he looks for a pair of track pants.

“Nothing he hasn’t seen before,” Niall replies a few moments later.

Zayn makes a face, rolling his eyes as he puts on track pants and a t-shirt — making his way toward the door. “If you’re not up in five minutes, I’m sending Harry in here,” he warns before stepping out, vaguely registering the sound of Niall getting out of bed. 

As he enters the kitchen he first sees the look Harry gives him, Louis soon looking over in his direction — Liam turning back to the kettle and flicking it on.

“So.” Zayn starts, hands in his pockets.

“Have a good time then?” Louis asks. “While you left us stranded at the library?”

“It’s a ten minute bus ride home, you do it almost every day,” Zayn argues.

Harry’s smirking, Louis doing his very best to keep his face from breaking into a grin as Liam takes out four mugs. 

“Niall want any?” Liam asks, holding up a fifth mug.

“Dunno,” Zayn says, shrugging.

Louis looks ready to say something else when Niall follows into the kitchen, wearing one of Zayn’s sweaters as he goes to stand beside Zayn.

“Tea?” Liam asks, and Niall nods in response.

“God, you two are sickening,” Louis says where he’s sitting on the counter beside the sink.

“We’re just — standing here,” Zayn deadpans. “We’re not even looking at each other, for Christ’s sake.”

Louis doesn’t respond, just makes a sort of huffing, stubborn noise as Liam hands their tea’s wordlessly.

“Thanks for the tea,” Zayn says.

Liam smiles at him response, Harry moving to complain his tea doesn’t have enough sugar — “you shouldn’t have too much, your teeth are gonna fall out,” Liam responds.

“They’re not going to _fall out_ ,” Harry argues defensively, sounding slightly offended as he reaches for the sugar jar.

Louis steps in a moment later, trying to pry the sugar jar from Liam’s hand and it’s here Zayn takes a moment to leave the kitchen — walking back to his room as he kicks the door mostly closed behind him.

Niall’s already back on his bed, this time with his tea and Zayn’s sketchpad on his lap, eyeing it curiously as he glances up to Zayn.

“What’s this then?” he asks.

Zayn pauses, sitting on the other side of the bed as he shrugs. “Nothing,” he answers.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Niall says, holding up the page Zayn was just working on. “This me?”

“Something like that,” Zayn says.

There’s more sketches, things Zayn’s done over the years — most of the pages smudged and bent but he prefers it that way almost, he thinks to himself. 

“Why’d you stop?” Niall asks.

“Dunno. Didn’t think I was all that good at it, I guess,” he says with a shrug.

Niall shakes his head, putting it onto Zayn’s bedside table carefully. “You’re pretty good, though,” Niall says.

Zayn sighs, sipping his tea as he leans back slowly. “Can we like — talk about something else?” he asks, nearly laughing at the way Niall rolls his eyes in response.

“We could do calculus, if you wanted,” he suggests.

Zayn snorts, shifting a bit as he moves to sit beside Niall now — both at the front of the bed as he presses his lips to the skin behind Niall’s ear — sucking lightly as Niall shivers in response.

“What are you — _Zayn_.” Niall moans, tilting his head to give better access.

“This _is_ what you meant by ‘doing calculus, isn’t it?” Zayn ask, trailing his lips along Niall’s jawline.

“Fuck,” Niall breathes out, laughing. “I meant like — _actual calculus_ , you complete idiot.”

Zayn hums, putting a gentle hand on Niall’s waist to carefully move him — giving Zayn better access to kiss his lips.

“This is better though, isn’t it?” Zayn asks.

“A bit, I guess,” Niall says — but Zayn can hear his resolve crumbling.

“We could just do it tomorrow,” Niall suggests.

“Like the way you think,” Zayn says, licking into Niall’s mouth and ignoring the loud, obnoxious singing that sounds very similar to Harry’s voice coming from the kitchen.

— 

The first time it happens, Zayn doesn’t think anything of it. He comes in after classes to an empty canvas in his room, a few jars of the oil paint he likes beside it on his desk. He pauses, looking it over.

Harry claims it wasn’t him, saying that he “has no fucking clue where the hell people buy canvases from”, Liam and Louis both giving similar answers when Zayn asks them.

 _think i know who it was ;)_ Louis texts him back.

 _nick?_ Zayn replies.

 _god, no. nick in a paint store? can you even imagine? you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between him and a paintbrush. poor bloke taking him home would have a sarcastic vulgar surprise waiting for him_.

Zayn rolls his eyes, sending another text.

 _i think some1 broke into my house_.

He gets a response less than a minute later. _Oh?_

_theres a canvas in my room, and some paint_

_Hmmmmmmmm_ he gets in response, along with a winking emoji. 

_should i call the police ?_

_Nah_ , he gets back. _Draw them a picture? Maybe this burglar is shamelessly using your talents for their own gain_

Zayn smirks and takes his stool from his desk, pulling it where the canvas is mounted. The rest of the apartment is quiet, Liam at work till later and Harry taking a nap. He takes the lid off of one of the jars, dipping the end of one of the brushes into it — running it along the canvas slowly, taking in the deep shade of blue.

He uses mostly blues, greens, and browns — earthy tones, Zayn thinks as he opens another jar carefully. He used to paint more when he was at home, working a lot of night shifts at the local pizza place — whenever he got home between four and six in the morning he could never sleep right away, instead he’d spend hours in his room, usually painting. Sometimes sketching, but he was mostly with a brush in hand, painting whatever little things from growing up, like the campground his parents used to take him and his sisters to once a summer, before they all got older.

He’d started smoking that year, he remembers, his last year of high school. If he was between classes or deliveries Zayn would almost always be outside, cigarette at hand — sometimes with Ant and Danny, the smell staying on him all day long.

God, it feels like he’s eighteen again, sitting here. A bit’s changed since then, Zayn thinks to himself, rubbing a hand over his beard.

His mom’s got one of his pictures in her room, hanging on her side of the bed — just above her night table. “Kind of like putting your art onto yourself, isn’t it?” she’d asked when he’d gotten his first few tattoos, the ink littered across his arm.

“Guess so,” Zayn replied.

It still rings with a bit of truth to it.

He keeps painting for the better part of a few hours, not even realizing how long it’s been until Liam comes in with a plate of food for him — setting it onto his desk.

“Painting again?” Liam asks, leaning against Zayn’s doorway.

“Kind of,” Zayn says slowly.

“It’s good,” Liam tells him before he goes, footsteps echoing down the hallway.

And yeah, Zayn thinks to himself for a few moments — tilting his head to get a better look at the almost full canvas. It’s pretty good.

— 

He basically fails a test in biology. He doesn’t have the room for fuck ups like this.

He reads it over the whole bus ride home, shoulders tense and brows furrowed, eyes repeatedly scanning the page. It’s little things — stupid, little mistakes he made that he could’ve avoided if he’d been fucking paid attention to what he’d been writing. 

“Fucking shit,” Zayn mutters when he gets inside, tossing his bag down and falling onto the couch.

He’s got another test next week, and he’s got to get at least an eighty percent to make up for this one, he thinks as he massages his temple

“You alright?” Harry’s voice comes from the kitchen. He walks out whisking something in a bowl. Zayn shakes his head — pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Not really,” Zayn mutters, closing his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Harry presses, sounding concerned.

“Pretty much failed my fucking test,” Zayn says. “Plus — I’m getting that paper I handed in back from last week and I’m pretty sure I didn’t do well on that, either.”

When he opens his eyes, Harry’s giving him a soft, sympathetic look. “Right, well, I’m making brownies. Which will help a little, right?”

Zayn snorts. “Don’t think they will,” he says, sounding only slightly hopeless.

Harry grins then, one that takes over his whole face; he winks at Zayn knowingly.

“Why are you looking at me like that,” Zayn asks, now slightly concerned.

“Oh, nothing,” Harry sing-songs ridiculously while stirring the contents of his bowl. “Just — I added a special ingredient to these, so.”

Zayn pauses, blinking. “What the hell are you —” but he stops, realization coming to him. He immediately bursts out into laughter. “Fuck, Harry, really?”

“You weren’t the only one having a bad day, Zayn,” Harry says. “Besides, I needed to get rid of what I had, and this was the only way I could think of finally getting Liam to have some.”

“You’re the worst,” Zayn says, Harry’s laughter following him back into the kitchen again. He goes to make himself some tea, turning on the kettle as Harry puts the pan of brownies into the oven.

“Is the apron necessary?” Zayn asks.

Harry frowns, looking down at it as soon as Zayn asks him. It’s one he’d gotten a while ago, now that Zayn remembers, a picture of a cartoon making a ridiculous face with the caption _touch my buns_ under it. “Louis got it for me,” Harry argues. “It’s nice.”

“Of course it is,” Zayn says, smirking as Harry rolls his eyes.

They stay in the kitchen while the brownies bake, Zayn scrolling through his phone aimlessly while Harry does the dishes.

Louis is working tonight — he’s taken one of Jesy’s shifts, he texts Zayn, complaining that _nick won’t let me have my break, says i haven’t worked hard enough for one_ and _zayn why aren’t you texting me back i’m literally dying here_ with the final, if only a touch dramatic, _nick is going to lock me in the freezer save me!!!!!_

 _dont 4get to bring a jacket, i hear its cold in those_ Zayn sends in response. He texted Niall a while ago but hadn’t gotten anything back, which is strange, because Niall usually doesn’t take long between replies.

“Alright, so. These might be terrible,” Harry warns as he hands Zayn a still warm brownie on a plate. “But they’re better than nothing.”

Zayn accepts it, taking a bite as he walks back into the living room. There’s a pile of games on the floor; he looks at them, confused.

“In the mood for — Twister?” Zayn asks, glancing back at Harry behind him.

“Thought it would be a nice stress relief from today,” Harry says.

Zayn doesn’t even want to try and understand. He goes to sit on the couch with Harry beside him as they turn on the television. 

— 

By the time Liam comes home, Zayn’s nearly forgotten all about his bad day, his limbs loose and laughing at nearly everything that comes out of Harry’s mouth.

“Shit,” Harry says. “I forgot how fucking _difficult_ this game is.”

“Getting old?” Zayn teases as Harry makes a noise of protest, hitting Zayn’s bum.

“I don’t think this is meant to be played with just two people,” Harry adds after a moment.

Right now, Zayn’s got Harry’s ass in his face, and while it’s slightly uncomfortable, Zayn refuses to lose — his head in the same haze as he spins the wheel.

“Left hand yellow,” Zayn reads out.

“Goddamn _fuck_ ,” Harry whines, shifting.

Zayn laughs, trying to move best he can but it’s proving to be useless — he’s pretty as tangled as humanly possibly at this rate.

“Are you — oh my God,” Liam’s voice comes as he steps through the door. 

“Before you go on assuming anything —” Harry begins, hardly coherent through his fit of laughter. “It’s not what it looks like, Officer Payne. Honest.”

Liam gives him a look. “I’m telling Niall.”

“Don’t — do that,” Zayn starts, trying to point a finger at Liam but instead falling over, Harry’s laughter continuing as they both tumble to the ground.

“We really are awful at this game,” Harry says, flat on his back, staring up at Zayn where he’s sitting on the floor.

Zayn nods in agreement, checking his phone — only a text from Louis telling him he’d made it out of work. Zayn frowns.

“Harry,” he starts, phone in his lap now.

“Zayn,” Harry replies. “This is a no frowning zone, you know.”

Harry’s always so ridiculous when he’s high, all big smiles and holding hands with whoever is closest to him. Right now, though, he’s poking Zayn’s cheek gently with his finger.

“What if Niall doesn’t like me anymore?” Zayn blurts out, the question plaguing his mind all day.

Harry stares at him, blinking, before he shakes his head. “Why on _earth_ would you think that, Zayn?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Zayn replies. Fuck, he needs to sleep — and eat. And definitely not eat any of those brownies that are left over. “He hasn’t texted me back all day.”

Harry shushes him, taking Zayn’s phone and putting it into the pocket of his jeans. “See? Nothing to worry about,” he says.

Zayn smiles a little, about to say something until —

“Harry Styles —” Liam begins, now in the living room and holding the plate of brownies. “Did you bake pot brownies? _Again_?”

Immediately him and Harry burst into a fit of laughter, Liam rolling his eyes and muttering something about “children, honestly” as he walks back into the kitchen.

“Liam — _Liiiiiiiiam_ , come back,” Harry whines from where he’s still laying on the floor.

“What is it,” Liam asks from the kitchen.

“It was just a bad day,” Harry says. “A horribly, terrible day for Zayn and me.”

Liam sighs, drying his hands with a towel as he looks between the two of them. “I’m not your father, now, am I?” he asks, tossing the towel at Harry.

“I love you, Liam Payne,” Harry says, dimples full on display now. “And you, Zayn, I love you too.” He pauses for a moment, face pinching together. “And Louis — God, I love Louis.”

“I think you’re missing someone,” Zayn says.

“I forgot Niall —” Harry says, eyes wide. “Shit, don’t tell him, okay?”

“Your secret is safe with us,” Liam assures Harry, eyes crinkled as he smiles now.

Harry shifts after a minute, brows furrowed as he pulls out Zayn’s phone again; it’s buzzing in his hand. He hands it to Zayn without another word, mouthing ‘I think it’s Niall’.

He goes out onto the balcony, the fresh air hopefully going to help clear his head as he puts the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Zayn? It’s Niall,” comes Niall’s voice.

“Hi,” Zayn says, grinning like an idiot despite himself. “You have — such a nice voice, Niall, you know that?”

He hears a laugh, then, “you alright? Did you and Harry go out to the bar again?”

“No, no,” Zayn says, waving a hand around. “We made brownies,” he explains.

A pause follows. “Brownies?”

“They had something ‘special’ in them,” Zayn clarifies.

“Oh — oh my God, yeah, right,” Niall says, sounding amused. In his still high state Niall’s voice is nice, Zayn decides. Very nice. Soothing, almost — instantly calming the worry that’s been heavy on his chest all day. “You and Harry?”

“Yeah,” Zayn answers. “Bad day.”

“Are you okay?” Niall asks again.

“Fine now, for the most part,” Zayn says. “You and Louis should come over — we have some extra here.”

“I would love to,” Niall says. “But —” Zayn feels himself tighten in anticipation. “I — shit, Zayn, babe I’m going home.”

“What?” Zayn asks. “Aren’t you — at home right now? With Louis?”

“No, no I mean like — _home_ , home. Ireland home,” Niall says.

Zayn doesn’t say anything for a moment, processing. “Why?” he finally thinks of asking.

“I have some things to do, with my family. It’s not like — anything big, but I’m on my way to the airport right now and —”

“You’re going now?” Zayn asks.

“My flight leaves in an hour. I’ll be back though, in a week, maybe two — tops, I promise,” Niall says.

Zayn clicks his tongue, unsure of what to say. Below he can hear the traffic, same as it is every night. He braces one hand against the railing of the balcony. “Two weeks?” he asks.

“One. I’m hoping for just one,” Niall says, voice soft and cautious, almost. 

“Okay,” Zayn says slowly. “I’ll see you in a week, then.”

“I’ll text you when I land, I promise. It’ll be like I never left,” Niall assures him, voice rushed. “I really — I have to go but I’ll talk to you soon, alright?”

“Alright. Fly safe,” Zayn says.

“Bye, Zayn,” Niall finishes before he hangs up. Zayn stares at his phone blankly.

What the _fuck_?

— 

“Well, this is weird.” 

Louis is peering close at the pixelated version of Niall on his laptop screen — waving at them from Ireland. “Haven’t you ever video called anyone before?” Harry asks before adding, “shove over, you’re taking up this whole damn couch, _Lewis_.”

“Oi, fuck right off,” Louis says. “You’ve plenty of room, it’s Liam who’s taking up the whole fucking couch.”

“Am not,” Liam protests.

Zayn shakes his head; he’s sitting next to Louis, watching them all try to settle in comfortably. 

“Can you see me?” Niall’s voice comes through the speakers. It feels like Zayn’s been punched in the stomach as soon as he hears it.

“Yes, we can,” Harry replies. “You’re a bit small, though.”

“God, Harry,” Louis groans into his hands.

“This is a mess,” Niall comments.

Liam snorts from where he’s sitting, all of them leaning in as Zayn looks at his hands in his lap. He’s still a little — pissed, is the word probably, that Niall just up and left, so he’s not sure what to say now, sitting here. It’s been a little over five days since he’s been gone and they’ve texted, sure, but Zayn isn’t sure what else to do besides that.

“Not a mess, we are just getting organized,” Louis says. “Now, tell us. How’s the homeland?”

Niall laughs, the sound bright and fuck, Zayn misses him. “It’s good, yeah. Saw a bit of my family today so, it’s been alright I guess.”

“Did you have a pint?” Harry asks, Louis elbowing his side.

“Had one yesterday! Which was good,” Niall says. “How are — all of you?”

Zayn doesn’t miss the way Niall’s eyes linger on him the longest before looking at the rest of them. 

“We’re good,” Louis answers, because none of them say anything right away. “You know, the usual, I guess.”

The conversation continues for a while — just simple, easy questions, the five of them conversing easily. Well, aside from Zayn, who isn’t saying much of anything. 

After about twenty minutes Harry clears his throat, looking at Louis pointedly. Louis nods. Zayn frowns, not liking the way Liam shifts like he’s about to stand. The three of them look at Niall once more.

“So, we — have some things to do,” Harry says slowly.

“What things?” Zayn asks quickly.

Louis blinks, giving him a confused look. “Just — things,” Louis says.

Liam waves to Niall, Louis and Harry following suit as they stand. “Come home soon, yeah?” Harry says, crouching in front of the screen. “Weird without you here.”

Niall smiles, a little. “Just a couple of days,” he assures Harry.

Harry grins, saying his goodbye as he follows Louis and Liam out of the room — which just leaves him and Niall. Fuck.

“You’ve been quiet,” is the first thing Niall says.

“Yeah,” Zayn answers.

There’s a tightness in his throat as he pulls his sweater closer, sighing. “Are you upset with me?” Niall asks, voice impossibly soft.

Not fair, Zayn thinks. “A little, yeah,” he says truthfully.

Niall nods, as if he’d seen this coming. He’s wearing one of Zayn sweaters, Zayn realizes after a moment. It’s big on him, the sleeves going far past his hands. 

“Alright,” Niall says after another pause. 

“You just — left,” Zayn starts. “No warning, no nothing. Just up and left. Who does that?”

He can see Niall frown in response. “There’s — I had to go, Zayn. It’s important.”

“Can you even tell me why?” Zayn asks.

Niall takes in a deep breath, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. He does that when he’s nervous, Zayn’s noticed over the past few weeks of being around him.

“I want to,” Niall says. “Shit, Zayn, I’m sorry.”

Zayn hates secrets. Absolutely hates them, possibly the most he hates anything in the world. And as he’s staring at Niall, right now, he can see can see there’s a secret that’s settled between them — and he has no fucking idea what it even is.

“It’s fine,” Zayn says, brushing it off. “I should go, though. Have some homework to do.”

He needs a fucking smoke, actually, but he doesn’t say that. Niall’s face falls, but he doesn’t argue. “Sure, yeah, ‘course.”

“I’ll um — see you when you get back?” Zayn says, feeling angsty. He’s been sitting on this couch for what feels like a lifetime.

“Okay,” Niall says, eyebrows pinched together and frown still on his lips.

“Bye, Ni.”

“Bye, Zayn.”

He closes the laptop, picking up his packet of cigarettes as he steps out onto the balcony. It’s getting warmer outside; he only needs a sweater now as he takes out his lighter.

He’s not pissed, not really, not anymore, he’s just _hurt_ and frustrated and he doesn’t know why Niall can’t just tell him why he left. Zayn grips the railing as he exhales a puff of smoke.

The door slides open, and he turns to see Louis coming out — hoodie over his head as he takes out his own cigarettes, lighting one silently. Neither of them say anything for a few moments, standing in silence and the quiet of the early evening air.

“Don’t have to be a dick about it, you know,” Louis says finally.

Zayn starts coughing, as he looks over at him. “I’m sorry?”

“Niall said he was _sorry_ ,” Louis continues.

Zayn laughs, but he’s not amused. “Still doesn’t tell me why he fucking left,” he says, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette.

“Why do you need to know so _fucking bad_?” Louis snaps. “He’s coming back, isn’t that what’s most important here?”

“How would you feel? If Harry just up and left you like that?” Zayn asks finally, looking down at the street below.

Louis pauses before muttering a quiet “shit,” and rubbing a hand along his face. “It’s not — like that, Zayn,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

“Niall — he isn’t Harry, this is different,” Louis says. It looks like he wants to take a step forward, do _something_ but he doesn’t, just stays where he’s standing. “He’s fucking crazy about you, he wouldn’t just up and leave like this unless it was for something really important.”

“I know,” Zayn says. His free hand is shaking where he’s holding onto the railing still, hitting it lightly as he hisses at the pain running up his arm when he does. “I _know_ ,” he repeats, mostly this time for himself.

“I — I have to go inside, Harry wanted me for something,” Louis says finally, shoulders hunched in defeat. 

“I’ll be fine,” Zayn says.

Louis pauses, bringing a hand to clasp Zayn’s shoulder before he goes back inside — sliding the door closed after him. 

And he’s right, Zayn knows that, but he just can’t seem to wrap his head around it. He stays out for a little while longer — smoking a second cigarette before he goes back inside. 

He can hear Harry and Louis in Harry’s room, the door slightly open as he makes his way to the bathroom.

“— You have to see where he’s coming from, Louis.”

It’s Harry’s voice, and from the small crack where the doors open Zayn can see them, on Harry’s bed. Louis’ head is in Harry’s lap, their fingers tangled together on Louis’ chest as he sighs, looking up at Harry.

“I know, it’s just —” Louis pauses, brows furrowing as he pauses.

“Just what,” Harry asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” Louis says, but Zayn can tell he’s lying. “I just don’t want to see them fuck this up, I guess.”

“They’ll figure it out,” Harry reassures him. And as always with Harry, there’s something about his voice that makes you truly believe, if only for a moment, that everything is going to be okay. “Let them figure it out.”

“Fine,” Louis mutters stubbornly. 

Harry asks him something Zayn doesn’t listen to, instead moving to go into the bathroom — their hushed voices following him as he goes.

They’re gonna figure it out, Zayn tells himself as he takes out his toothbrush. 

And, as he’s crawling into bed, he sends a text. Just a short, simple one — but one that he hopes will get the message across.

_goodnight xx_

— 

The days go on as usual, Zayn working and going to school — nothing out of the ordinary, really. Until he gets a text, just a little at eleven at night, when he’s done his shift. It’s from Niall, saying he’ll be back tomorrow afternoon sometime.

Zayn swallows, not sure what to say as he pockets his phone again and makes his way home. He’ll reply tomorrow, maybe, he thinks as he crawls into bed — hearing Harry and Liam’s show playing on the television.

— 

As it turns out, he goes to Louis’ apartment the next day.

“Well, hello,” Louis greets as he opens the door. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

Zayn shrugs, stepping inside. He’s only been here a handful of times — can’t even remember the last time he was here as he looks around. 

“He’s asleep,” Louis answers the silent question between them. “Jet lag, all that.”

“Jet lag. Right.” Zayn says.

“It’s pretty fucked up,” Louis says. “He said you could go see him if you came, though.”

Zayn swallows, feeling weirdly nervous as he rubs his hands together. He’d biked over, borrowed Liam’s, if only under the promise that he was going to securely lock it, bike lock and all. 

“Sure — I mean, if that’s alright,” Zayn says after a moment.

“Fine by me,” Louis says. “I’ve got a paper to write anyway.”

Zayn nods, Louis giving him a small smile before he goes — the light to his bedroom on as Zayn starts down the hallway. 

He finds Niall’s room easily, an overly large irish flag hanging on the door as he shakes his head, finding himself smiling as he pushes open the door. It’s very neat and organized, the opposite of Zayn’s as he puts his hands into his pockets.

Niall’s asleep on his bed, underneath a pile of blankets — the only really recognizable thing is his hair, bright and blonde sticking out. There’s pictures along the walls, places Zayn doesn’t know and not much else besides that. Once he reaches the desk, however, Zayn pauses.

Beside a few books there’s a pile of sketches. Or, Zayn’s sketches, to be more precise. He runs his fingertip over the edge of one, not even remembering doing it — there’s the faint outline of Niall, probably one morning they’d spent in Zayn’s bed doing nothing of importance. There’s a few more along with it; apparently Niall’s been growing his own collection of Zayn’s artwork, he thinks to himself.

His computer is closed and there’s a picture resting on top of it. Zayn picks it up slowly. It’s one of him and Niall — a few weeks back when they’d all gone out for drinks. He doesn’t remember it getting taken, probably didn’t even know it was happening. It’s just him and Niall, sitting in the booth and listening to whoever had been playing at the bar that night — Zayn’s arm around his waist, and he remembers Niall saying something funny and he had been laughing, cheeks flushed, hand tangled with Niall’s.

Something inside of Zayn’s chest tightens when he sees that, before he sets it down, making his way toward the bed. 

Waking up Niall is probably one of his least favourite things to do in the world, Zayn thinks to himself as he runs his thumb along Niall’s cheek gently.

He stirs, but doesn’t wake, instead pulling his blankets closer. Zayn nearly snorts in response. 

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Hey, Ni. Wake up.”

Zayn leans forward slightly, pressing his lips to the one spot he knows the best on Niall — the soft, warm skin of his temple.

Niall makes a soft, sleepy sound — finally waking up slowly as he rubs his eyes. 

“Zayn?” he asks, voice rough with sleep.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Zayn tells him, watching Niall try to blink awake.

“How long have you been here?” Niall asks, sitting up.

“Not long,” Zayn says. 

Niall looks at him for a moment, staying quiet as Zayn runs a hand through his hair. There’s a whole list of things he should say, but can’t seem to think of a single one right now, as he watches Niall yawn into the back of his hand.

“Do you want anything? I have some leftover food in the fridge, if you want,” Niall offers.

Zayn shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek as he shifts slightly.

“I’m alright, ate a little before I came here,” Zayn answers. 

There’s music coming from Louis’ bedroom, loud. Zayn sighs. He swallows, feeling weirdly nervous as Niall brushes his still-warm fingers along the inside of Zayn’s elbow. 

“I’m sorry,” Niall says finally, voice not wavering. Zayn doesn’t say anything, just waits for him to continue. “For just — up and leaving, like that. I know it wasn’t the best, and we were just — I don’t know, everything’s been going so well, you know?”

Zayn nods, hearing Niall sigh. “It’s fine, Ni,” he says, though it’s not that convincing.

“It’s not,” Niall insists. “But it’s not going to happen again, okay?”

And the thing is, Zayn wants to believe him. But a small part of him still isn’t fully convinced as he leans over. He ignores the nagging voice in the back of his head as he presses his lips to Niall’s forehead gently. 

“Let’s talk about something else,” Zayn says, taking one of Niall’s hands into his own gently. “Like your suspiciously growing pile of art, over there.”

Niall looks over toward his desk, frowning slightly. “Were you going through my stuff?” he asks, trying to sound offended.

“You’re very difficult to wake up, you know,” Zayn argues.

Niall rolls his eyes, now looking at where he’s holding Zayn’s hand. “Christ, your hands are cold,” he adds, trying to pull his hand away.

“But I thought you would help warm them up —” Zayn starts, pouting, as Niall shakes his head in response.

“No fucking way, mate, you’re on your own with those icicles for hands —” Niall says, but it’s too late because Zayn’s already moving toward him on the bed.

Niall squirms, laughing loudly as Zayn gets a hand under his shirt — resting it on the warm skin of Niall’s ribs. 

“Oh my _God_ , you fucking menace — they’re so _fucking cold_ —” Niall nearly screeches, breathless, as Zayn laughs in response.

Eventually Zayn relents, Niall’s cheeks flushed as he shoves at Zayn’s chest lightly, sinking back into his pillows. 

Zayn lays beside him, playing with Niall’s hand. He laughs a little — hearing Niall huff in response.

“So, are we —” Niall pauses for a moment, hesitating. “Are we okay?”

Zayn nods, once, leaning over to press his lips to the corner of Niall’s mouth. “Yeah,” he says gently. “We’re okay.”

— 

He’s in his room doing homework a few nights later when he gets a text. 

_Come outside_ it’s Niall.

 _the fuck_ Zayn sends back. _come inside like a normal civilized human being_

 _Would ruin the whole point of a surprise wouldn’t it ?_ Niall replies.

Zayn groans, rubbing the back of his neck. He can’t really say no, not when he’s been doing this lab report for five fucking hours straight and is on the verge of a psychotic break — or something close to one.

 _be down in 5_

He stands, closing his laptop and taking his beanie from his bed — too warm now for any sort of jacket. Zayn opens the door to his room, putting his bag over his shoulder. Harry pauses where he’s watching television, looking at Zayn curiously. 

“Where are you off to? I thought you had that report to finish?” Harry asks.

“Something came up,” Zayn mutters, looking for a shoe. Why is their apartment always such a fucking mess?

“Would ‘something’ —” Harry uses those obnoxious quotes with his fingers, “happen to have blond hair and be parked outside our building right now?”

“Maybe,” Zayn says. Harry grins, laughing delightedly with himself as Zayn lobes a shoe at him. 

“I’ll tell Liam you went for a job if he asks where you went, then,” Harry says.

“Yes, because that’s believable,” Zayn deadpans. 

He makes sure he has his key, closing the door and making his way down the steps. Sure enough, there’s Niall waiting at the curb.

Zayn opens the front door, finding Niall scrolling through his phone — wearing a t-shirt and snapback as he looks over at Zayn as soon as he sits down.

“Hi,” Niall greets, pulling out onto the road once Zayn’s got his seatbelt done up.

“Hey,” Zayn says. “Any chance you’re going to tell me where we’re going?”

But, as predicted, Niall just shakes his head. “Don’t think I will,” he answers.

So Zayn sits in silence most of the drive, even when it’s been half an hour and he doesn’t have a clue where the fuck they are.

 _where the fuck r we going_ he sends Louis, because he has a feeling Louis knows.

 _did you get into a car with a stranger again? i keep telling you not to do that, zayn_ he very unhelpfully sends back.

 _lol_.

_it’ll be fine. be careful, though, or before you know it you might find you’re enjoying yourself._

Zayn sighs, not replying as Niall stops the car, finally. They both get out in front of a mostly dark building. Zayn stares up at it for a moment. He has to wait for Niall to get a bag out of his trunk, big and black as he puts it over his shoulder. 

“It’s just up here,” Niall directs, taking out a key to open the door.

It’s an open space, a store of some kind, Zayn thinks as he follows Niall to the back. He opens another door leading up to a stairwell.

“Is this where you show me you’re a superhero, or something? Are you actually Bruce Wayne?” Zayn asks.

Niall snorts, using his phone screen to light the way up the steps. “I would _not_ be Bruce Wayne,” he says simply.

“I’m sorry — do you not like Batman?” Zayn asks. “Answer wisely, now. Our whole relationship rests on this.”

“I plead the fifth,” Niall says.

“Are we allowed to be here?” Zayn asks as they reach the top of the stairs, Niall taking out yet _another_ key.

“What, you think I would take you to some building and break in?” Niall responds, opening the door as they step out.

It’s a terrace, Zayn realizes. Niall moves a bit, turning on a few lights scattered along the ground. 

“What is this place?” Zayn asks.

“It’s a restaurant,” Niall explains. “They’re not open yet, but they will be in a few weeks.”

“And we’re here for what, a wine tasting?”

Niall smirks, shaking his head. “I wish,” he says, leaning against the brick wall around the edge of the terrace.

Zayn, still not having any clue what’s going on, puts his hands into his pockets and watches Niall crouch to open his bag. 

He takes out a few spray paint cans, along with a few brushes and a couple of cans of paint.

“So we’re going to vandalize a restaurant before it’s even opened?” Zayn asks, because Niall’s not really giving him any answers, is he?

“Nah,” Niall says, handing him one of the cannisters. “I was talking to the owner — apparently he’s looking for someone to paint something on this huge, ugly wall so his customers don’t have to look at it.”

Zayn glances back, holding the can to see the wall Niall’s talk about. 

“So, what. You’re gonna paint it?” Zayn asks.

“God, no,” Niall says. “I told him I might have a friend who’s interested, though.”

Zayn raises an eyebrow, turning to look at him. “Friend?” he repeats.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Niall continues, swiping his thumb over Zayn’s knuckles. “I figured, maybe, if you wanted to give it a shot you could?”

It seems a bit daunting, standing here in the middle of the night — with a big, blank wall, and too many ideas. Zayn doesn’t know where to begin.

But, with Niall beside him, it doesn’t seem that big, Zayn thinks as he sucks in a deep breath. “Alright,” Zayn says finally. “Let’s — give it a shot then, I guess.”

— 

Niall doesn’t help, claims he “ruins any and all artistic things”. He does homework instead, sitting at a small table while Zayn stares at the blank wall. 

He has sort of an idea in his head, the colours mixing together when Zayn starts with a can of spraypaint. It’s different than his canvases — the brick a different texture, some of the painted over grey colour chipping and fading. Zayn tries his best to work with it.

It’s quiet; the rest of the city died down by this hour. Zayn can’t hear much besides the occasional car driving back, along with Niall humming from time to time in his seat. He doesn’t mind it though, gives him more room in his head to think without so much going on around him. 

Every once in a while he’ll look over his shoulder, occasionally finding Niall looking at him already — his eyes trailing along the fresh paint. 

 

By the time he’s finished it’s a little before five in the morning. The sun is starting to rise as Zayn takes a step back — hands on his hips as he takes it all in.

“Think I’m almost done,” Zayn says, and when he hears no response he turns to find Niall asleep on his chair.

He must’ve fallen asleep somewhere after pouring them some coffee from his thermos. He’d already looked half asleep when he handed some to Zayn. 

“Can never last past midnight,” Zayn teased, watching Niall make a face. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Niall said while yawning into the back of his hand. 

Zayn walks toward his chair, leaning down to press a kiss to the side of Niall’s neck. He moves a few moments later, opening his eyes and groaning tiredly.

“Have a good nap?” Zayn teases.

“Wasn’t asleep,” Niall says stubbornly, rubbing his eyes.

“Almost done, I think,” Zayn adds.

Niall pauses, hand tangled in Zayn’s as he stands, slowly, making his way toward the painting. His eyes are wide, and there’s a large smile on his lips before he turns to Zayn again.

“Fucking brilliant,” Niall breathes out, gripping Zayn’s hand.

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, pressing his lips to Niall’s head.

Niall nods, still trying to take it all in — from the dark blues of a night sky to a river. There’s the outlines of a city alongside it, illuminated.

“How much left?” Niall asks.

Zayn looks at it a moment, considering. “Just a bit —” he starts, lifting his brush toward the wall before moving it and running it along Niall’s cheek. “About done now though, I think.”

Niall squawks in response, taking a step back from Zayn. He wipes a hand across his cheek, finding wet paint on his fingers as he pulls them away.

“You’re gonna pay for that, Malik,” he says, and if it’s supposed to come across as a threat it fails miserably. Zayn laughs.

“I’m so scared, Niall,” he says sarcastically, waving his brush around.

Niall narrows his eyes, looking only slightly menacing as he takes a bigger brush — dipping it into the can and flicking it toward Zayn. 

And in a few seconds he’s got, quite frankly, a fuck ton of paint all over his shirt. Zayn gasps — looking over at Niall. 

“Fuckin’ right,” Niall says, grinning with apparent triumph. 

“Don’t know what you’re grinning for, to be honest,” Zayn says back. 

Niall opens his mouth to say something before Zayn lifts up the paint can, throwing it as the paint comes flying out — and splatters all over Niall.

Zayn can’t hold back his laugh. He stands there giggling into his hand — watching Niall look down at himself with an open, surprised mouth.

“Oh — my God,” Niall says finally. He’s standing in a puddle of paint, Zayn more than a little thankful that they’d taken to laying tarps across the ground to catch any paint that might’ve fallen during Zayn’s creative process.

“You asked for it,” Zayn says.

“I asked for it?” Niall asks, pointing to his chest. “I fucking _asked_ for it, Malik?”

Zayn’s still laughing, taking a step back for every one Niall takes toward him — this going on until he’s backed into a corner. 

Niall’s blond hair is now a bit blue, his shirt completely soaked in paint as he corners Zayn against the brick wall. “Niall — hey, Ni, let’s talk about this before you go crazy —” Zayn starts, watching Niall put his hand into the other paint can.

Niall just grins, despite himself, running his now paint covered hand over Zayn’s cheek.

“No — no, no, God, it’s _cold_ ,” Zayn whines, as a bit more paint gets dumped onto his shirt. 

“You gotta say it,” Niall says.

Zayn nearly yells when Niall dumps a bit of the paint onto his front again. “Say — what?” he asks.

“That I win,” Niall says simply, shrugging.

“You — fucker —” Zayn breathes out, moving a bit so he’s out of Niall’s grip, and racing back across the terrace.

Niall follows after him, laughing. Zayn turns at the sound — holding up his hands as Niall approaches him, falling back into one of the chairs.

“Truce?” Zayn asks, hands still up.

But Niall just stares at him, shaking his head as he seems to get an idea, putting down the can as he moves to straddle Zayn’s lap.

“Gotta say it,” Niall insists, tilting Zayn’s chin up toward him. “Them’s the rules.”

Zayn tries not to smile, but can’t help it when his face nearly splits in two. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember what it was,” he replies.

“Don’t be a shit,” Niall says, leaning down to suck on Zayn’s lower lip.

Zayn groans, rocking his hips up almost instinctively. One of Niall’s hands comes to rest on his thigh, warm and insistent. 

“Fine,” Zayn huffs out in defeat, not appreciating the teasing way Niall squeezes his thigh. “You — win.”

Niall grins, before he kisses Zayn — his lips warm, much like the warm, spring air. Zayn rests a hand on his waist, kissing him back. “You know what’s nice, though,” Niall says after a moment.

He’s nearly half hard now, with Niall’s hand nearly on his dick. He takes in a deep breath. “What,” he barely manages to get out.

“That it’s nearly five in the fucking morning, so Harry and Liam are asleep —” Niall starts.

“You’ve got my attention,” Zayn says.

“So, that means the shower is all ours,” Niall finishes, kissing Zayn again.

“What are we still doing here, then?” Zayn huffs out. Niall’s laughing as he slides off Zayn — moving to pick up the paint can beside them.

They pack up quickly, Zayn hardly feeling tired anymore as they get everything ready to go in about twenty minutes. 

“What if he hates it,” Zayn asks as they stare at the wall.

Niall pauses to take a picture, looking over toward Zayn. His brows furrow as he shakes his head knowingly. 

“Not gonna hate it,” Niall says, sounding assured.

Zayn swallows, but doesn’t ask again, as he picks up the bag. As they start toward the door and Niall’s car, he feels Niall press a kiss to his clothed shoulder. 

— 

As predicted, both Harry and Liam are out for the count by the time they get home — no sign of either of them as they walk through the door.

They move slow, the early hour finally weighing on Zayn. He takes a change of clothes from his room — another for Niall as they walk over to the bathroom. The sun’s nearly completely risen now, illuminating the bathroom so Zayn doesn’t even bother turning on a light. 

He takes off his shirt slowly. It’s still wet, the paint not yet dried as he tosses it into a plastic bag, so as to not paint their entire bathroom an entirely different colour. 

Niall turns on the water, kneeling in front of the tub as Zayn removes the last of his clothes. He presses a kiss to the skin between Niall’s shoulder blades before he steps under the warm, steaming water. He’s sore; from leaning over his computer for hours, then from painting for nearly eight hours straight. He lets the hot water run over him as Niall soon steps in after him.

“Hi,” Niall murmurs, kissing the back of Zayn’s neck. 

Niall’s hands come to his waist, warm and pressing into his skin lightly. Zayn turns, slowly, to face him.

The paint’s rinsing off their skin, colouring the floor of the tub as Zayn runs his thumb over Niall’s wrist bone slowly. “A shower was a good idea,” he says gently.

Niall hums, not saying anything else as he kisses Zayn. He stumbles backward, just a bit, his back hitting the cool tile wall behind him. But he doesn’t care, he holds Niall’s cheek — running his thumb along his jawline slowly. Niall licks into his mouth a few moments later, mouth warm. Zayn bites down on his lower lip.

Niall brings a hand to his dick, stroking it once as Zayn’s knees nearly buckle in response — taking in a sharp breath. 

Niall grins, because he’s an absolute idiot. He brings his thumb to stroke the end of Zayn’s cock carefully. “Are you going to — get on with it,” Zayn hisses, trying to breathe evenly. 

“Demanding,” Niall teases, kissing Zayn’s lips briefly before he gets on his knees.

Zayn shifts, now standing directly under the stream of water so Niall has more room — one of his hands at the base of his already half-hard dick.

“God,” Zayn breathes out, running a hand along his face.

Niall doesn’t waste time, putting his lips around the tip of Zayn’s cock — running his tongue along the slit. Zayn nearly comes right then and there from that alone. He leans one hand against the wall of the shower as he closes his eyes.

He thinks he might pass out when Niall stars to take him in — and it’s all warm heat on his dick as Zayn brings his other hand to Niall’s hair, tugging gently.

Niall pulls off for a few moments, breathing deeply as he noses along Zayn’s thigh, pressing a few, lingering kisses on the skin there before he takes him in again. 

Zayn can hardly think straight — possibly from the lack of sleep, but also because of what Niall’s doing with his tongue that nearly drives him over the edge. Zayn bites the back of his hand to keep from making a noise and potentially waking up Harry and Liam.

It’s not long before he comes, Niall pulling off just before he does — leaning his forehead against the tile, coming back down as he feels Niall put a gentle hand on his waist, steadying him. When he looks over, Niall’s still got some of his come on the corner of his mouth. Zayn wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.

“Not bad, Horan,” Zayn says.

Niall laughs, biting on the skin of Zayn’s collarbone briefly — pouring some shampoo onto Zayn’s head in response. 

It goes on like this, each of them taking turns washing the other — Zayn running his hands along Niall’s skin, watching the goosebumps erupt with each part he touches. He cleans out the paint from Niall’s hair, Niall closing his eyes as he leans into Zayn’s touch almost automatically. 

He makes a sound of approval as Zayn tugs on his hair gently, working in the shampoo. Niall shifts, closer toward him.

“Like that?” Zayn asks, chuckling. Niall nods in response.

He feels Niall trail his lips along his collarbone, both hands on Zayn’s waist. “I love you.”

Zayn isn’t sure Niall’s said it until he pauses, pulling back slightly, eyes wide and looking as though he’s on the verge of being sick. So Zayn watches for a moment as Niall stumbles over his words, nearly getting shampoo in his eyes.

“I didn’t — like, I meant, I love _that_ — you washing my hair but I —” Niall pauses, as if trying to find some sort of bearing as he takes in a deep breath. “I mean, I meant that, other thing. I meant that too, and I’ve been wanting to say it for a while but I don’t want to like — rush you, or anything?”

It takes a lot of effort not to laugh. Zayn nods slowly, because Niall looks so fucking _nervous_ , standing there. 

“Niall —” Zayn starts, and Niall braces himself, as if he knows what’s about to happen. “It’s fine. I mean, I don’t — know if I can say it back yet? But I’m glad you said it.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Niall so relieved, standing there under the water.

Zayn smirks, taking a step toward Niall as he tugs him closer again. “You’re an idiot,” Zayn tells him as he kisses him, slow and gentle.

“Possibly,” Niall says in agreement. 

Zayn rolls his eyes, kissing Niall again as he rinses the rest of the shampoo out of Niall’s hair.

He sucks Niall off next as he leans against the wall — hair plastered to his forehead and biting off a shout as he comes, hitting the back of Zayn’s throat. 

 

They dry off, Zayn putting their paint soaked clothes on the floor of his room. He’ll deal with them late, he thinks as he crawls into bed — Niall not too far behind.He already looks half asleep. 

“Night, Ni,” he says gently, pushing a bit of hair from his forehead.

Zayn isn’t sure if he’s ever been in love, but looking at Niall now, he’s pretty sure is the closest he’s ever been.

— 

“Shit,” Zayn mutters, nearly kicking the wall. “Shit, shit, shit, _shit_.”

It’s a few weeks later, and everything has seemingly gone back to normal. Or, as normal as they can be, really, as far as the five of them go. Right now, he’s standing in Niall’s living room, having a mild panic attack because he forgot his fucking _computer at home_.

He’d somehow completely let it slip his mind that he had one paper left — which was due for electronic turn in, today, at four thirty.

“What’s wrong,” Louis asks, sticking his head out from the kitchen doorway. “You look like you’re about to have a hernia.”

“I fucking —” Zayn starts, taking out his phone. “Don’t have my computer, and I need to turn in a fucking paper that’s due in half an hour.”

Louis pauses, eyes widening as he mutters a “shit. Harry’s using mine because his keyboard isn’t working — and it’s at your house.”

“I’m gonna call Niall,” Zayn says, dialing the number as he holds the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?” Niall answers on the second ring. Thank God.

“I need a favour,” Zayn starts quickly, trying not to panic.

“I’ll be home in a few minutes, the prof went extra fucking long today, so I was thinking I’d get some food or something —”

“I need to borrow your computer to hand in a paper or I’m going to fucking fail school,” Zayn cuts him off, because he’s really fucking pressed for time.

“Oh, yeah — sure, I think my computer’s on my desk?” Niall responds.

Zayn makes his way into Niall’s room. “What’s your password?” he asks as the lock screen shows up.

“Oh, God,” Niall mumbles, now sounding slightly embarrassed. “It’s Neymar11.”

Zayn blinks, and if he wasn’t so stressed right now he’s sure he’d burst into laughter. “Are you serious,” he deadpans.

“Shut up and just — turn in your stupid paper. I’ll be home in a bit,” Niall snaps; he still sounds fond. “And Harry and Liam are coming over so — whatever. Good luck.”

He hangs up, opening an internet browser and making a mental note to himself to mock the hell out of Niall for that password later. He types the school email and clicks on it when it pops up.

Zayn moves the mouse to log himself out but pauses when he sees the name in the corner. He’d been expecting to see _Niall Horan_ , but instead finds himself reading the name _James Horan_. He looks at it a moment. He lets his mouse hover over it, trying to place the name because it sounds fucking _familiar_ but he can’t quite place it —

“Hurry up, Malik. Don’t want a dropout on our hands, do we?” Louis says from the doorway. Zayn jumps in surprise.

“Fuck off,” Zayn snaps, logging Niall out, and signs himself in.

He sends it in a few minutes, just before it’s due — falling back into Niall’s chair and sighing with relief.

ZM: _so. neymar, eh?_ he texts to their group chat. _how many of u knew about nialls dirty crush on him and didnt tell me?_

NH: _Ur not getting any pizza. Fuck off_

HS: _Thought it was a little obvious Niall has a raging boner for him, Z_

LT: _yeah he only talks about neymar ALL THE FUCKING TIME_

LP: _Doesnt he have a posterrrrr or something_

NH: _I fucking hate you all_

LT: _above his bed, isn’t it?_

HS: _Yeah, gets a good wank in before bed every night. Isn’t that right, Niall? ;)_

LP: _Okkkk that’s enough_

NH: _Oh my God_

ZM: _HAHAHAHA_

NH: _I’m breaking up with you_

LT: _whoa there, ni_

HS: _Damn, that’s harsh_

LP: _:O_

ZM: _see you soon, sweet cheeks_

 

Niall shows up eventually, grudgingly handing Zayn his pizza before stalking off into the kitchen — returning a few moments later with a beer.

Harry smirks when he sees it, going to sit beside Zayn on the couch, Niall on his other side.

“Why do you even watch the news, Liam,” Louis asks. “Do you want a pair of loafers? Maybe a cup of decaf tea to go with it?”

Liam shoots him a look. “It’s good to be informed, _Louis_ ,” he replies.

“He’s got a point,” Harry says, soliciting a nudge in the side from Louis in response. 

Niall’s still pouting as Zayn puts an arm around him.

“Now, we’ve got a bit of gossip for you today,” the woman starts. Louis snorts. “A bit of _royal_ gossip.”

“Get this off,” Louis says, tossing a balled up napkin at Liam.

“Shut _up_ ,” Liam says in response, stubbornly not touching the remote in his hand.

“...the new addition to the royal family of Ireland will go by the name of Prince Theo Horan, born to his parents the Duke and Duchess of Laighin — a very healthy, _very_ adorable, little boy,” says the presenter, practically cooing at the baby picture on the screen. Beside him, Niall stiffens noticeably, but doesn’t say anything. “The family is doing well, and the arrival of a soon to be crowned prince saw the return of everyone’s no-so-secret royal favourite, Prince James, who flew in especially from the States, where, rumour has it, he’s attending college.”

The scene cuts to the proud dad. “It’s been great, having everyone home, being a family together. We’re very grateful for all the love and support, and of course seeing James after so long is great —”

“Didn’t know the royal family was called Horan. Are you related to them?” Zayn asks, glancing at Niall. “Have you had ties to royalty this entire time and not told us?”

Niall coughs, eyes wide and unsure of what to say as he opens his mouth. Even Harry’s looking at him curiously until —

“Aren’t they your really distant cousins, or something?” Louis asks.

Niall relaxes a bit, nodding slowly as he leans back. “Yeah, fifth cousins or summat, I think,” Niall says.

Zayn looks at the screen, still not convinced. He doesn’t push it, decides that probably isn’t the best thing to do right now. 

“Are those the cousins you can marry?” Harry asks.

Louis blinks, turning to look at him. “What are you talking about,” he asks.

“You know — you can’t marry certain cousins, but you can marry like, fourth or fifth cousins, or something, right?” Harry asks.

Zayn covers his face with one of his hands while Niall laughs hysterically beside him. Louis groans.

“Why, do you have a fourth cousin you particularly fancy?” he asks.

“What? No! _God_ , I was just wondering,” Harry replies.

The conversation doesn’t go any further, everyone settling in as Louis makes an attempt to get the remote from Liam — insisting that they “need to watch something that isn’t the fucking _news_.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything else, instead focuses on Niall’s gentle thumb continually moving over his knuckles in the same, careful motion.

— 

HS: _Greetings, all. Liam’s last exam is on the 18th, which means that night we are going out for drinks_

LT: _fuckin right we are_

LP: _Hellllll yeahhhhhhh_

NH: _LAZZZZZZZ !!!!!_

HS: _LADZ LADZ LADZ_

LT: _no one knows what the hell you two are talking about STOP SAYING LADZ_

ZM: _im in :)_

LT: _zayn you have to weigh in on the ‘ladz’ debate_

ZM: _:)_

NH: _That’s my man_

LT: _goddamnit zayn_

HS: _#LADZ_

Zayn smirks, pocketing his phone as he goes back to work. He puts the dirty dishes into the dish bin, wiping a wet cloth along the table.

His last exam is tomorrow, and he’s not too worried about it, honestly. Right now he’s just got to get through this shift, somehow. He passes Liam, who’s sitting at another table.

“Need more coffee?” he asks.

Liam looks up, eyes puffy as he nods, tiredly. “Please,” he says.

Zayn gives him a small smile, filling his mug and leaving some cream before walking into the back — rinsing some dishes before he’s got to bring out an order. 

He feels off; like something’s out of order, or place, and he can’t figure out what the fuck it is. It might be school, Zayn isn’t sure, because he’d talked about that with Niall the other day.

“I just — don’t think you’re happy, in what you’re taking now,” Niall had brought up when they’d been doing dishes. 

“What do you mean?” Zayn asked, confused.

“It’s not really like, my place or anything,” Niall continued, shrugging. “But I just — think you’d be happier studying something else?”

“Maybe,” Zayn replied, putting another dish onto the rack. 

“Just give it some thought, yeah?” Niall told him, not pushing the subject any father as they’d finished dishes.

And he has a point, is the thing. Even now, days later when he’s at work — it’s still tugging at Zayn, persistent, and he isn’t sure what to do with it.

“You alright, Malik?” Nick asks from the stove, looking back at him.

Zayn blinks, realizes he’s been standing in front of the sink possibly too long as he takes a step back. “Yeah, I’m — fine,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as Nick snorts.

“If you say so,” Nick says, unconvinced. “And if you see Tomlinson tell him to come pick up his damn tips, will you?”

“I’ll pass on the message,” Zayn says, walking back out into the restaurant. 

Zayn finishes up a family at table three, getting them their bills as he goes back to wrapping cutlery again. It’s quiet, which is unusual for a Friday afternoon, but he’ll take it. 

Liam’s still working, brow seemingly creased forever as Zayn smiles, a little. 

Truthfully, he can’t stop thinking about what Niall had said in the shower a few weeks ago — his mind replaying the moment again and again, like some sort of sick record on repeat.

Should he have said it back? Zayn swallows, thinking about it, as he shakes his head. A part of him wished he had said it, but the rest of him isn’t sold on that quite yet.

Could possibly be him holding back, as Louis had told him when Zayn had brought it up. But it’s like — he’s never actually said it to anyone that isn’t his mother, or father, or sisters, so the idea of saying it to _Niall_ makes his stomach tighten with something similar to nerves. 

“Just — do you love him? First thing that comes to your mind when I ask you that,” Louis asked, sitting on his bed and looking at Zayn expectantly.

“Yes,” Zayn said. 

“Alright, then. You’ll just say it when you’re ready.”

And that had been that, really.

But when is he going to be ready? Will he ever be ready? Or will be just sort of skate around saying it and says it at the moment he doesn’t consider the right one?

God, his head hurts. 

“Hey, Zayn —” Nick says, sticking his head out the small window into the kitchen. “Calum’s starting soon, and I’ve got Jesy till nine, so why don’t you head out.”

“You sure?” Zayn asks, drying off a clean cup.

“Very sure. I’ll see you Tuesday,” Nick says with a small smile as Zayn doesn’t argue, instead goes to the back and gathers his things so he and Liam can walk home.

— 

“I haven’t been properly drunk in like, two months,” Louis says as he walks into their apartment. “How tragic is that?”

“Tragic might be a bit dramatic,” Zayn says. Louis frowns in response.

“You’re uninvited, Malik,” he snaps.

“Not likely,” Niall’s voice now comes behind him.

Zayn grins. “I have to just grab my phone, and I’ll be ready.”

Louis sighs, glancing down the hallway. “It’s fine. I doubt Harry’s ready to go, anyway,” he says.

“Just five minutes!” Harry’s voice comes, as if on cue a few seconds later. 

Zayn rolls his eyes, Louis going to go pester him, most likely, as he makes his way back to his room. 

He takes his phone from his bedside table, turning to find Niall in his doorway — winking at him as Zayn laughs.

“Already got me, you know,” he says, putting his phone into his pocket. “No need to flirt.”

“Need to keep our relationship young,” Niall says. “Louis says we’re becoming one of those boring couple types.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, putting an easy arm around Niall’s shoulder. “And since when is Louis the relationship expert, honestly.”

Niall doesn’t argue, just nods as they step back out to find everyone ready to go — Harry still buttoning up his shirt as Louis practically pushes him out the door. 

 

Zayn’s designated driver, Niall’s keys in his pocket as he gets a coke from the bar, following them somewhere in the back for all of them to sit.

Jesy and Perrie show up, hand in hand, their friends Jade and Leigh-Anne not too far behind. Ed comes too, apparently done with exams himself. He high fives Niall, the two chatting for a while as Liam sits beside Zayn. 

Louis is already nearly finished his first drink, talking with Jade and Harry.

“Just go talk to her,” Zayn says, looking at where Liam is trying not to stare at Jade.

“What?” Liam asks, trying to feign innocence.

“Jade,” Zayn says, grinning as Liam noticeably blushes. “Go talk to her, man. We all know you’ve had a crush on her for _months_.”

“It hasn’t been months,” Liam mumbles.

“Just _go_ ,” Zayn urges, pushing him toward them and away from where he’s sitting. 

And Liam does, in fact, go, rubbing his hands nervously on his jeans before he approaches Jade slowly. 

“Taken up post as our new matchmaker, have you?” Niall asks, glancing back at Liam briefly before moving to sit next to him.

“Had to do something,” Zayn says, shrugging. “Or I’ll be bored stiff the whole night.”

Niall laughs, quietly, pulling Zayn close to him. He goes easily, pressing a kiss to the top of Niall’s head.

 

As expected, the more they group of them drink, the louder they all seem to get. Or, that’s what Zayn’s found over the past few hours.

Harry and Ed are singing karoke — which Zayn takes as the perfect moment to slip out for a smoke. So he stands, Niall talking with Louis a ways away as he steps outside, taking the pack out of his jacket. 

It’s early summer, the air heavy and warm as Zayn lights the end — feeling the warm breeze blow past him. 

“ _Zaaaaayn_ ,” comes Harry’s voice as he nearly stumbles outside.

Zayn laughs, quietly, helping Harry steady himself. “Thought you were singing with Ed?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“We finished,” Harry says. “Liam and Louis are singing now — I don’t even know what song it is,” Harry slurs, giggling as he shakes his head.

“Right, well. We can go listen when we get inside,” Zayn says.

Harry nods, leaning against Zayn as he sighs. “Sharing is caring, you know,” he says after a moment. 

He hands Harry a cigarette, the smell of second hand smoke clinging to them both. “Are you having fun?” Zayn asks, ruffling a bit of his hair.

Harry nods. “Are you?”

“‘Course I am,” Zayn replies.

Harry’s quiet for a few moments, because he’s a thoughtful drunk. Zayn waits for him to speak again. 

“Are you gonna break up with Niall?” Harry asks, brows furrowed in apparently concern. 

Zayn looks at Harry, confused. “I’m — what?”

“Just — I don’t know,” Harry mumbles into Zayn’s shoulder.

“Did he say something?” Zayn asks, now feeling slightly worried himself.

Harry shakes his head. “No, he didn’t,” he answers.

“So, then what are you going on about?” Zayn asks, voice gentler now as he brushes a curl from Harry’s forehead. 

“I’m just —” Harry starts, sighing loudly, as if trying to find the right words. “You’re happy, aren’t you?”

Zayn pauses, stepping on the butt of his cigarette before he looks back at Harry who’s nearly finished his own. “Yeah,” he tells Harry truthfully, “I am.”

“Gross,” Harry says, but he’s grinning. “You’re in love, aren’t you?”

“Alright,” Zayn says, gently leading him back inside. “That’s enough out of you, mister.”

Harry makes a face but follows him back inside, taking off his overly large hat and putting it on Zayn’s head. “Mr. Niall Malik,” he says, giggling once more.

“Oh my God,” Zayn says, putting a hand over Harry’s mouth. “You’re such a fucking _menace_ when you’re drunk, I swear to God.”

“Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” Harry asks, poking Zayn’s cheek.

“I’m ignoring you now,” Zayn says simply, watching Harry stumble away — most likely to Louis, who’s talking loudly with Liam.

“What was that about, then?” Niall asks. Or, more so slurs, looking at Zayn from where he’s sitting at their table. 

“Nothing,” Zayn answers easily. “Just Harry being an idiot, is all.”

Niall laughs, gently biting Zayn’s clothed shoulder as they sit at the table — Louis and Ed now coming up to the stage to sing. Zayn rubs the familiar, slow circles into the back of Niall’s hand.

It takes a while to get them all rounded up and into Niall’s car, Ed, Jesy, Leigh-Anne, and Perrie all taking cabs as Zayn makes sure they’re all buckled.

“‘M not five,” Louis grumbled, grinning when Zayn had flipped him off.

“So, how did it go with Jade?” Zayn asks Liam as he starts the car.

“Got her number, she said I could call her this week sometime,” Liam says, smiling widely.

“Look at Payno, all grown up,” Louis comments. Harry snorts.

Liam says something to Louis, Zayn not paying attention now as he turns to look at Niall — who looks as though he’s fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Still with me?” Zayn asks, gently pressing his thumb to the corner of Niall’s mouth.

“Yeah,” Niall answers, eyes not even open as he talks now.

Zayn shakes his head but doesn’t push it, instead pulling up in front of their building — the group of them making their way upstairs. 

Once inside he makes sure they’ve got some water, all of them getting into bed.

“I’m not even drunk, you know,” Niall says as Zayn gives him a look.

“‘Course not, babe,” he tells Niall.

“Like when you call me that,” Niall says.

“What, Niall?” Zayn asks.

“No,” Niall replies, moving to sit on the edge of Zayn’s bed, trying to take off his shoes. It doesn’t really work, shoes still half on his feet as Zayn carefully helps him take them off. “Babe. I like that.”

Zayn smirks, pressing a kiss to Niall’s forehead. “You need to sleep,” he says, handing Niall a cup of water and aspirin. 

“I need to — tell you something first,” Niall says, leaning back against Zayn’s bed.

“What is it, then?” Zayn asks, kicking off his own shoes and taking off his t shirt — it’s too warm to be sleeping with one on.

“It’s — important,” Niall continues, but his eyes are already closing as Zayn presses his lips to the back of Niall’s neck.

“You can tell me tomorrow, then,” Zayn tells him, but Niall’s already asleep by the time he’s said it.

— 

Next week when Zayn has a day off, they go shopping. Niall insists he needs more clothes, which Zayn is sure is not true — but he doesn’t argue.

“You’re obsessed,” Niall says watching Zayn takes a scoop of his frozen yogurt.

“Shut it,” Zayn snaps as they walk into another store.

Niall snorts, but doesn’t say anything. He licks at Zayn’s spoon instead, before looking through a pile of sweaters. They’ve been out for almost two hours already and Zayn’s starting to feel it, feet sore from working eight hours yesterday and walking most of today but he doesn’t complain — just shakes his head when Niall holds up a potential sweater to buy.

When he doesn’t find anything in here, they start off again, this time to a store Zayn actually doesn’t mind. He tosses his now empty frozen yogurt container into the garbage and starts looking at a pair of boots he definitely doesn’t need. 

He’s checking the price absently when he hears voices. There’s a group of teenage girls skulking around the mens’ section, hidden behind the baseball cap display. They keep glancing in Niall’s direction, looking furtive.

“— You _really_ think that’s him?” one of them is asking her friend, voice hushed.

“I know it is,” the other replies, looking at something on her phone. Zayn pauses, blinking, as he listens. “His hair’s blonde now but — it’s definitely him.”

“And people _are_ saying he’s going to school in New York,” another girl adds.

Zayn swallows, a strange, weird feeling gripping him as he looks at Niall. He takes a step toward him, but the girls are faster, apparently, cornering Niall as he turns around. 

“Can I help you?” Niall asks slowly, giving Zayn a look.

They giggle collectively as one of the girls holds up her phone. “You’re Prince James Horan, aren’t you?” she asks.

Zayn watches as Niall’s face pales considerably, shaking his head. “No, I’m sorry, you must have me confused with someone else —” he starts, but the girl doesn’t move.

“What’s your nephew’s name again?” another girl asks. “Tyler? Tim?”

“Theo,” Niall snaps. “His name is Theo.”

All the girls exchange looks and Zayn knows, then, that they’re right. “Oh my God,” Zayn says slowly. Niall looks at him, terrified.

“Shit, no, okay — you can’t tell anyone, okay? I’ll take a picture with you or whatever but —” he pauses, and Zayn is sure he isn’t breathing now, watching him.

Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit, holy _shit_. 

But it seems it’s already too late, a number of other girls starting to crowd the entrance of the store. Zayn’s eyes widen. 

“We only told a few friends, I _swear_ ,” one of the girls is saying — but Niall isn’t even listening. He’s taking out his phone to dial a number, eyes closed as he tries to focus on what the person on the other line is saying.

“Are you friends with him?” someone asks. “Are you dating him?”, “Do you go to school with him?”, “Will you take a picture with us too?”

“Zayn —” Niall’s now saying, reaching out to grab his wrist. “We have to get out of here, alright? We have to go —”

Zayn swallows, the group pressing into the store — cameras and phones flashing, people yelling his name over and over. “Prince James!”, “Prince James, don’t go, we just want one picture!”

“I’ll explain it all later, just — we have to go, Zayn, _now_ ,” Niall urges.

And Zayn goes, if only because he’s worried they’re going to get trampled at any moment. Niall looks relieved and starts pushing through the crowd and out into the hallway.

Word travels fast, apparently, because there’s people coming from every direction. Zayn feels as though he might pass out at any second as he follows behind Niall, who's got a gentle hand on Zayn’s wrist. 

 

They walk quickly by a few windows and when Zayn gets a good look he sees news vans — cameras and people with microphones. He tries to breathe. “Shit, Niall, look —”

“Don’t look,” Niall tells him, voice firm and soft all at once. “Just — we gotta keep walking, Zayn.”

Zayn’s nearly out of breath by the time they get down a flight of stairs, making their way to an exit. Zayn’s not even sure where all these fucking people /came from/ following after them. 

“Shit,” Niall breathes out, cheeks flushed and looking like he’s about to be sick. 

There’s people lining outside, and more coming toward them, Zayn realizes as he tries to think of some way for them to get the fuck out of here.

“Alright — everyone get out the way,” comes a voice Zayn doesn’t know, and when he looks up, he sees an older man pushing through toward them. He immediately feels a small sense of relief come over him.

“Paul, thank _God_ ,” Niall says, as the man, Paul, apparently, reaches them.

“Come on then, we’ve got a van waiting out front,” Paul tells them, moving them out the door.

It’s still a struggle getting anywhere, people pressing in and Zayn’s worried his lungs might collapse as voices start shouting around them still.

“Prince James, care to comment on your time spent in America?”, “Who’s your friend? Everyone wants to know!”, “How long have you been living a secret life in America?”

The van’s there, unmarked. Paul opens the door, ushering them inside it. It’s a few moments before he shuts it, firmly, getting into the front seat as they start off down the road — away from the chaos. Zayn puts his head between his knees.

“Are you alright?” Paul asks, Niall making a muted sound in response.

Zayn’s handed a water bottle then, sitting up as he takes a sip — still feeling like he’s going to pass out at any moment.

“What the hell happened in there, anyway?” Paul asks. Niall sighs, looking at Zayn briefly before he starts rehashing the story.

Zayn isn’t listening, hands shaking as he looks out the window — not even checking his phone, because it all makes sense now.

He doesn’t know even know how he didn’t fucking _see it before_ , when it was right in front of his eyes. He feels stupid, and angry. He’s fucking pissed. 

“— my apartment would be best, I think,” Niall is saying. Zayn listens again, biting the inside of his cheek as he sits quietly.

Zayn feels something brush his hand, warm and soft — a touch he knows to be Niall. He pulls his hand back onto his lap.

“Zayn —” Niall starts, but Zayn just shakes his head, doesn’t want to hear it.

 

By the time they pull up in front of the building there’s thankfully no one there, no cars, no vans, and no cameras, Zayn observes with a small sense of relief. Paul walks them to the door, telling Niall they’ll be outside all night. Niall nods, the two of them starting upstairs.

Zayn walks in silence, doesn’t say anything. He knows Niall wants to — but he’s holding back, hands in his pockets as they reach the door.

Louis is there, ready to let them in as soon as they step inside. Niall makes his way into the kitchen but pauses when he realizes Zayn isn’t beside him, turning to look back at him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Zayn asks.

Louis opens his mouth but Zayn shakes his head, dismissing whatever it is he’s going to say. 

“We’ve been together what — almost a year? And you didn’t feel the need to tell me that, ‘hey Zayn, I’m actually a Prince of Ireland, thought you should know,’” he snaps, arms crossed over his chest.

“It wasn’t — like that,” Niall says, looking as though he’s bracing himself for what’s coming.

“Then what was it like?” Zayn asks.

“I couldn’t tell anyone,” Niall says. 

“And you? You couldn’t either?” Zayn asks, looking pointedly at Louis.

“I couldn’t, Zayn, I was under contract —”

Zayn laughs, the sound cold and distant. “Contract? That’s new. Haven’t heard that one before,” he says.

“Let’s just — sit, for a bit, and talk about it —” Niall starts, but Zayn shakes his head.

“I asked you. I asked you specifically, weeks ago, if you were related to the royal family, which is ridiculous, isn’t it? And, fuck — I saw your email when I logged into your computer to use it a while back, I saw _James Horan_ on the fucking screen and I couldn’t put it together,” Zayn says, rubbing a hand along his face. “I’m really fucking stupid. Bet that made it easier.”

Niall looks like he might cry, or scream, standing there. He looks so small, Zayn thinks. And he doesn’t like it. But he doesn’t move, stays where he is as he watches Niall shift awkwardly.

“I wanted to tell you,” Niall starts. “Fuck, there were so many times —”

“Why didn’t you?” Zayn asks, cutting him off. “What, did you think I was going to go to the first newspaper that would buy my story? Get a few hundred bucks and my name in the paper for a few weeks?”

“ _No_ , Zayn,” Niall says firmly. He sounds angry now. Well, _now_ they’re getting somewhere, Zayn thinks. “It was too risky — I couldn’t do that, can’t you see that?”

“You lied to me.” Zayn says, past the point of anger now. “You _both_ did,” he adds, now looking at Louis.

He turns, moving the door handle to get the fuck out of here. “Where are you going?” Louis asks. “Zayn — don’t go, please.”

“I’m sure as fuck not staying,” Zayn says, opening the door.

Niall doesn’t say anything, just stares at Zayn — eyes wide and he looks so fucking _hurt_. Zayn is sure he sees tears, and, God, he wants nothing more than reach out and brush them away with the pad of his thumb — tell Niall it’s okay, they’re gonna work through this, but he can’t. He takes a step forward, letting the door close behind him as he goes.

 

Over the next few weeks he sees less and less of Liam and Harry. He knows where they’re going. They’re always saying they’re “going out, will be back later” but he knows every single time, it’s to Louis and Niall’s.

He’s at work now, scrolling through a text from Harry telling him there’s some leftover pizza in the fridge. 

It’s nearly five, and he’s been here since nine in the morning. Zayn feels like he could topple over any moment, wiping down a table.

“Hey, Zayn,” he hears Luke say as he moves to sit in the table behind the one he’s working on.

“Oh — hey,” Zayn greets, putting his slightly damp cloth over his shoulder. “Dropping off Calum?”

Luke smiles shyly before he nods. “Yeah, gonna hang out here, then see a movie when he’s done,” he says.

“Sounds fun,” Zan says.

“When are you off? Do you maybe wanna come?” Luke offers.

Zayn takes a lone empty cup from a table. “I’m, um — not really up for being a third wheel, sorry,” he says, teasing a little.

Luke’s brows furrow. “Well — isn’t Niall free? He told me he was going to dick off all summer, or something,” he asks.

“He might be, I dunno,” Zayn says, shrugging. “We don’t really talk much these days.”

“What, why?” Luke asks. Apparently Calum didn’t get him the memo, Zayn thinks to himself as he runs a hand through his hair. 

“It just — didn’t work out,” Zayn answers. Because that’s most of the truth, really, the story he tells people, even though most of them know. It’s kind of hard to miss the headlines when they’re everywhere, scattered across magazines and newspapers alike.

‘ _Prince James living in New York — could he have found love?_ ’ or other, more obnoxious ones, like, ‘ _Prince James moves to New York to be secretly married — what does his mother say?_ ’. Zayn fucking hates them, hates reading them every day.

“Sorry to hear that,” Luke tells him, sincerely.

“Thanks,” Zayn says. “I’ll just — get you your usual, yeah?” he offers.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Luke says, frowning slightly as Zayn goes to get a glass of coke.

Even Nick’s been saying he’s been moody lately. He’d sent him to do dishes in the back one day because of Zayn getting angry at a customer who insisted on paying for their nearly thirty dollar meal in change. 

He misses Niall. He misses him so much, and he fucking _hates_ it, but doesn’t know what else to do about it.

— 

When he gets home there’s a newspaper on his bed. Zayn picks it up slowly, confused. 

‘ _Thought you might want to take a look at something in here_ ’ he reads Harry’s messy writing on a post-it note attached to the front, with the helpful, ‘ _second page, G8_ ’. It’s the arts and leisure section, Zayn realizes as he turns to the page.

He stares at it a moment when he reaches it — feeling as though he’d been punched in the chest when the realization hits him. It’s a picture of a restaurant terrace, tables and candles all set up — twinkle lights illuminating the space, along with some other lamps. But that’s not the part that’s got Zayn gripping the page tightly, blinking. It’s the painting along the back wall of the terrace — dark colours and shades, exhibiting a peaceful night on the river.

It’s Zayn’s picture. _Hidden gems in the city of New York — Art by Anonymous. Written by local food critic, Greg James._

‘ _...While eating at Teddy’s, I happened to stumble across a hidden gem, as I like to call it. On what could have easily been another boring, old wall, this owner had taken it upon himself to hire someone to paint the otherwise only sore spot of his restaurant._

_“I’d met a young man, a while back,” the owner, Teddy, explains to me. “And he said he had a friend who he thought would be perfect to fill the space. So I said, what the hell, why not — and gave him the keys and told him to do it one night, a few weeks back when I was still getting everything settled. And when I got back in the morning, there it was. I couldn’t have asked for something more perfect.”_

_“And you’ve no idea who it was?” I ask him, surprised._

_“Not a clue,” Teddy tells me, smiling. “But whoever they are, they should know they’ve got a lot more talent to share with the world than what they think.”_

_“That’s your message to them? The artist?” I ask._

_“It’s what his friend said, actually,” Teddy recalls. “But I think it holds true, now, seeing what they’ve created.”_

_I couldn’t agree more, Teddy. And if you want to go out for dinner — and enjoy a view on the side, I would highly recommend Teddy’s._ ’

Zayn stands there, reading and rereading the page, as if it’s not even real, even though it’s right there.

“Fuck,” Zayn breathes out, hands shaking slightly as he moves to sit on the edge of his bed. 

It seems Niall was right all along, then, he thinks to himself briefly. Not that he doubted it for a second.

— 

It takes him about a week to finally find the courage to call his dad. They’ve hardly spoken since Christmas, it’s been only a few brief emails and short phone calls, nothing like this. 

He’d told Harry about it, sitting at their table and Harry listened quietly, nodding occasionally. “I think you should do it,” he said, decided on the subject.

“Yeah?” Zayn asked, still unsure. 

“Yeah,” Harry said, nodding. 

And so, here he is, on the balcony of their apartment — smoking and staring at his phone. His dad’s home by now, a little past seven, most likely just finished dinner and going to watch television, like he always does.

Zayn dials the number, knowing there’s no turning back as his father answers.

“Hello?”

Zayn swallows, feeling his throat tighten. “Hi, dad,” he says slowly.

“Zayn? Is everything alright?” his dad asks, sounding worried.

“It’s fine,” Zayn answers quickly, closing his eyes for a bit. “I just — wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Well, out with it then,” his dad says.

Zayn feels his chest tighten, gripping the railing. “I don’t — want to do pre-med.”

It’s followed by silence, which he’d been expecting, but not one this long. “What do you mean,” his father asks finally.

“I mean —” Zayn pauses, tries to find the right words. Fuck, he should’ve written it out, like Liam had suggested. “I know you wanted me to, and I thought I wanted it too but I just — I can’t do it, not anymore.”

“Well, what else are you going to do?” his dad asks, his tone unreadable from the other line.

“Art,” Zayn says, not beating around the bush — not bothering to try and make it sound like something it’s not. “I want to study art.”

He can hear the television in the background, can hear his sisters somewhere behind his dad as he waits. For him to say something, _anything_.

“And this is what you want? Art?” his dad asks.

Truthfully, Zayn had half expected his father to hang up on him, or start laughing — thinking this is all some strange, elaborate joke. But he doesn’t; he can hear his father’s steady breathing on the other line.

“I know it’s not — there’s no guaranteed work,” Zayn starts, rubbing a hand along his arm. “But I’m good at it, dad. I’m really good at it.”

He isn’t sure if he should keep talking or just shut up, but Zayn finds himself waiting again for an answer — gripping his phone tight to his ear. 

“And this — art. It will make you happy?” his dad asks slowly.

“Yeah,” Zayn tells him, not even having to think about it. “It will.”

“Well, then,” his dad says. “There isn’t much else to it, is there?”

Zayn blinks, mostly in disbelief at what he’s hearing. “So, that’s — a yes?”

“It’s not a no, isn’t it?” his dad replies, and Zayn hear the smile in his voice — prominent in the way he talks. 

“No, I guess not,” Zayn says, nearly laughing with relief. 

“We’ll talk about this more when you visit in a couple of weeks,” his dad says. “And — Zayn?”

“Hmm?” Zayn asks.

“I’m glad you told me.”

Zayn smiles, nodding, as he takes in a deep breath. “Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

As he hangs up the first person he can think of to tell is Niall — the realization sinking in him as he steps back inside.

— 

“Mail for you,” Liam tells him one morning. Zayn looks up where he’s sketching on his bed.

“From who?” Zayn asks, taking the envelope.

“Dunno,” Liam answers. “Looks like some fancy shit, though.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, looking at it for a moment, holding it in his hands. 

It’s addressed to him. Or, to a ‘ _Mr. Zayn Malik_ ’. It wouldn’t be so strange if it weren’t for the formal stamp at the corner, along with the seal on the back of it.

He opens it carefully, feeling strange about ripping it open as Liam watches him, almost expectantly. 

It’s on a fancy stationery Zayn’s never seen before, the penmanship neat and orderly as he reads it over.

_Dear Mr. Zayn Malik,_

_On the night of August the 27th, you have been invited to join the Royal Family of the Kingdom of Ireland for an evening of food, dance, and festivities._

_This event will aim to raise money for the Cystic Fibrosis Fund, a charity that counts Prince James Horan amongst its patrons._

_Please bring your enclosed personal invitation, which is your ticket to enter._

_The Lord Chamberlain, as commanded by His Royal Highness Prince James._

 

Zayn reads it over a second time, just to make sure he’s got all the pieces as he stares at it — mostly in disbelief. 

“Did you get one of these?” Zayn asks, looking at Liam.

Liam shakes his head. “No, Niall just kind of — invited us, I guess.”

Zayn swallows, running his fingertip over the words as he takes them in a third time. He feels weirdly nervous, sitting there, unsure of what to do next.

“Are you gonna go?” Liam asks the obvious question.

“I’m — not sure,” Zayn answers truthfully, the paper now feeling like a weight in his hands.

Liam doesn’t say anything else, just clasps Zayn’s shoulder briefly before he walks out the door — letting it shut behind him as Zayn falls back onto his bed, groaning into his hands.

— 

A few days later, and still not any closer to knowing what he’s going to do with that invitation that’s still sitting in his room, Zayn walks inside after work with a pizza and finds Harry on the couch. 

“God bless you, Zayn Malik,” Harry says as Zayn hands him the box.

“Figured with Liam gone you wouldn’t have dinner,” Zayn says.

Zayn smirks, going into the kitchen to get them two beers. He brings them back out, caps off as he goes to sit beside Harry. 

“Bad day?” Harry asks, eyeing his beer as he takes his own.

“Kind of,” Zayn says. He watches the screen, Harry’s feet propped up on their coffee table. “The news? What, has Liam been rubbing off on you?”

Harry makes a face, starting to eat a slice of pizza. “I don’t mind it, you know,” he says.

Zayn snorts. “Don’t let Louis catch you watching it, then.”

A silence settles between them, and as much as Harry tries to hide it, he’s frowning; there’s a small, sad sort of downturn of his lips. 

“Have you — talked to them at all?” Harry asks slowly, cautiously.

Zayn shakes his head, taking a sip of his beer, feeling guilty as he clears his throat. “No, I haven’t,” he says.

Harry keeps his eyes on the screen and the weather forecast for the week. He leans back carefully against the couch.

“They miss you, you know,” Harry says finally.

“I know,” Zayn says. “I miss them too. It’s not like I don’t think about them.”

Harry nods, smiling a little. He’s wearing a snapback — backwards, pushed back to keep the hair out of his face. He turns up the volume, just a little.

“Now, despite the frenzy after the breaking news that the young Prince James has been living in New York City for the past year — we managed to get an interview with him, just this morning,” the presenter is saying, as Zayn feels himself tighten. Harry’s looking at him, hesitating, but Zayn doesn’t ask him to change it. “And let me tell you, ladies, he’s just as charming in real life as you’d expect him to be.”

Zayn grips his beer tightly. 

And then, there’s Niall. Zayn hasn’t seen him in — fuck, weeks, but he still looks the same. His hair is done up, wearing a blue button up shirt and slacks and — oh, fuck, Zayn can’t do this.

“So, tell me, Prince James,” the woman starts. “What’s it been like, living in New York?”

Niall smiles, shifting slightly in his seat. Zayn feels his heart ache in his chest. “You know it’s been pretty normal, actually,” Niall answers.

The interviewer laughs and nods. “Normal is good though, right?”

“No, yeah, it’s good. Very good,” Niall says. “But — secret’s out, I guess, so it’s been a bit different.”

“I can imagine.” She sounds almost sympathetic.

And the thing is — Niall’s relaxed, not even bothered by the fact that he’s surrounded by cameras, being asked questions like that. Like someone who’s grown up in this life, Zayn thinks to himself as he takes another sip of his beer.

“It’s alright, though. Can’t really complain,” Niall adds and that’s so typical Niall, really. Making the best out of any situation; even if you’re outed as a Prince living in New York.

“Alright, I’m just going to ask the question on everyone’s minds — what exactly is this fundraiser you’re holding?” the interviewer continues, watching Niall intently.

“Well — it’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a while, actually,” Niall begins, very much at ease as he crosses one leg over the other. “Growing up, in Ireland, I spent a lot of time volunteering with kids who have Cystic Fibrosis, and since leaving for school I haven’t been doing as much for them as I’d hoped I would be.”

“So that’s how the fundraiser came about?” she asks.

“Yeah, I mean, essentially. I haven’t really ever planned anything like this before, and I’ve always wanted to do that — plus, you know, it’s for a good cause, so I mean, why not?” Niall replies.

“And your whole family will be attending, is that correct?”

“That’s the part I’m most excited for, I think,” Niall says. “They’re all going to be there, even little Theo, who I haven’t even seen since he was born, so I’m very much looking forward to that.”

“Is there — if I may ask,” the interviewer starts, and judging by Niall’s laugh they both know where this is going. “Anyone ‘special’ coming?” 

Zayn rolls his eyes, watching Niall as he laughs it off, not seeming bothered by the question. “I mean, I asked them. Have yet to hear back, so, fingers crossed,” he says.

“Have you seriously not RSVP’d yet,” Harry deadpans, glaring over at him.

“Fuck off, I’m trying to _listen_ ,” Zayn snaps.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure, Your Highness,” the presenter says, reaching over to shake his head.

“Thank you, you too,” Niall replies. The screen cuts over to some Hollywood starlet and Zayn closes his eyes — exhaling slowly.

“So — are you going to go or —”

“Don’t finish that sentence, asshole,” Zayn cuts him off, Harry smirking as he makes his way back into the kitchen.

— 

“For God’s _sake_ , Tomlinson, are you trying to give me a heartattack?” Nick’s near shrill voice comes from the kitchen when Zayn gets to work a few days later in the early afternoon. 

“I didn’t _do anything_ , honestly,” Louis snaps in response as Zayn pushes the door into the back room. 

“Yeah? You call putting salt in sugar containers not heart attack inducing?” Nick asks sternly, holding up one of the said sugar shakers in question.

Louis looks at it a moment, his back to Zayn as he ties his apron around his waist. “Well, you have no proof it was me,” Louis says simply.

Nick rolls his eyes, all but slamming the shaker onto the countertop. “You really think Calum would do something like this? Or Perrie?”

“What about Barb? She’s always seemed pretty shifty to me,” Louis asks.

“Barb is, need I remind you, _sixty-five years old_ ,” Nick says, arms now crossed over his chest. “There’s no way in hell she put the time and energy into something like this.”

“Right, well. I have tables to look after so, I’ll be back,” Louis says, shuffling out of the kitchen.

Zayn hangs up his bag, taking his pad and pen as Nick points a finger at him. “Keep an eye on him, you hear me?” he says, and Zayn nods, doing his best not to laugh at Nick’s very serious expression. 

“You got it,” Zayn assures him, hearing Nick mutter something like “babysitting a bunch of fucking five year olds” as he goes out into the restaurant.

It’s pretty busy for a weekday, he thinks, as he goes through his shift — him, Calum, and Louis closing tonight, along with Nick, but he never leaves the kitchen anyway, so. 

The couple at table eight don’t leave him a tip, which puts Zayn in a foul mood — not to mention how Louis is making a very big point of ignoring Zayn. Not that Zayn doesn’t get it, he’s all for it, would rather not speak to Louis after their last conversation ending the way it did.

They get a rush about an hour before they’re scheduled close, Zayn only taking a five minute break to smoke outside — the August air warm, making his clothes feel like they’re sticking to him when he tosses the end of his cigarette into the garbage.

“Say, Calum,” Louis starts at the end of the night, counting tills and making sure everything is wiped down. “Could you please ask Zayn to check if the washrooms are clean?”

Calum blinks, looking over at Zayn with a confused expression on his face. Zayn looks over at Louis. “Why don’t you just ask me, Louis. What are you, six?”

“I’m sorry, _Calum_ , what was that?” Louis asks.

“Um —” Calum starts awkwardly. “Louis wants you to check if the washrooms are clean.”

Zayn sighs, propping his elbows onto the countertop as he covers his face with his hands. “They’re clean, Louis, remember when I cleaned them?”

Louis doesn’t acknowledge Zayn’s voice, instead continuing to focus on counting his till — wrapping a band around his pile of receipts. 

Calum looks at Zayn, then Louis, before he finally says, “Zayn says they’re clean.”

“Perfect,” Louis says simply, closing the drawer. “As always, Calum, it’s been a pleasure. Tell Luke I say hi.”

“Louis —” Zayn starts, following him into the backroom. “You can’t be fucking serious right now.”

“Think I am, actually,” Louis says back.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to ignore me from here on out?” Zayn asks.

“Well, it’s better than the alternative,” Louis snaps.

“Which is —” Zayn trails off, following Louis toward the front doors.

Calum doesn’t say anything, just waves as he walks off to Luke’s car — leaving Louis and Zayn there, in the street, alone.

“Which is nothing,” Louis says, taking a step away from Zayn.

“No, no,” Zayn says, following him. “I’d love to know, since you’re so up to sharing.”

Louis is angry, Zayn can see that in the way he’s got his hands balled up at his sides — his lips pressed together in a thin line. 

“You’re such a fucking _dick_ sometimes, you know that?” Louis says, finally, turning around and looking up at Zayn. “You haven’t spoken to me in _weeks_ , and now you think you can just pretend we’re fine?”

“I wasn’t pretending we were fine,” Zayn argues.

Louis scoffs, looking up at the sky hands on his hips. Zayn waits for him to say something.

“God, Zayn, I’m so fucking mad at you,” Louis says.

Zayn nods, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “I’m still pretty pissed at you too,” he says.

Louis smiles then, just a little, biting down on the corner of his lip. “I can’t stay mad at you, you absolute arsehole,” he says.

“You can punch me, if that’ll help,” Zayn suggests.

“Don’t tempt me,” Louis says, pointing a finger at Zayn.

“Can do it later, if you want,” Zayn says, hands his pockets as he follows beside Louis down the street.

“Holding you to that,” Louis says. “As pissed as I am — I just, miss you Zayn.”

Zayn nudges Louis’ hip with his own lightly, as he nods. “You too, you know,” he says.

“This is terrible,” Louis says. “How are we supposed to have a real, actual fight if we don’t fight?”

“Well —” Zayn starts, putting his bag higher up on his shoulder. “You _did_ lie to me, so.”

“I had to,” Louis says, looking tired as he’s walking now. “If I told you, I’d be tried for treason, or whatever. Maybe hanged — have my head chopped off.”

“Jesus,” Zayn swears under his breath. “You wouldn’t have been _hanged_ , idiot.”

Louis smirks. “I know — you and Niall —” he stops, and Zayn pretends he doesn’t tense when he hears Niall’s name. “I know you’re still mad at him, and I get it. But this isn’t about you and Niall, this is about me and you, you know?”

“Yeah,” Zayn answers. “Makes sense.”

“Alright, so. I lied to you, and you were a dick to me when you found out. _And_ ignored my texts for three weeks,” Louis says.

“I was mad,” Zayn says.

“It is very rude to ignore a group chat,” Louis says.

Zayn laughs, quietly, shaking his head. “You are all rather annoying,” he says.

Louis smiles, but doesn’t say anything as they make their way back to Zayn’s apartment. Once they reach the building, Zayn pauses, looking over at Louis as he opens the door.

“I’m sorry I was a massive dickhead,” he says.

Louis reaches out, grips Zayn’s shoulder for a moment as he shrugs. “Sorry I lied to you,” he says.

Zayn looks at him for a few moments before motioning to the door.

“Do you wanna come in? Play a little Fifa?” Zayn offers as they start up the stairs.

“Are you going to let me win?” Louis asks.

Zayn rolls his eyes, opening the door as Harry yells something from the kitchen, unintelligible as he takes off his shoes.

“Why is it so fucking hot in here?” Zayn asks.

Harry comes into view then, only wearing a pair of shorts with a dish towel over his shoulder. “I just told you. The air conditioning is broken,” he explains. Once he sees Louis, though, he pauses — not so subtly grinning in response. “And our landlord can’t get it fixed until next week.”

“Great,” Zayn deadpans. 

“Liam left you some of his dinner,” Harry adds, motioning to the fridge.

Zayn nods, tossing his bag onto the couch as he glances at Harry. “Wanna play with us?” he asks, holding up a controller.

“Only if you let me win,” Harry says, moving to sit beside Louis as Louis snorts.

“Not a chance, Styles,” Louis says. “No mercy in Fifa, you know that.”

Zayn laughs, leaning back against his chair as he hears Harry complaining about his controller, feeling a bit of relief.

— 

He makes the decision the day of the event, waking up to Harry singing in the kitchen as he rubs his eyes, trying to fully wake up.

He’s not going to go. It’s better that way, really, because he’s not sure he could see Niall — knows it would be too much for him. 

There’s still some hot water left by the time he gets into the shower, letting the steam fill the room as he rinses himself off — still smelling like coffee and grease from work yesterday. 

A part of him thinks he should change his mind, but Zayn’s not going too, doesn’t see the point, really. Because what’s going to happen? He’s going to go, see Niall, remember why he was so fucking in love with him in the first place, then leave. And it’s going to fucking hurt all over again.

He dries himself off, not bothering to shave what little stubble is on his face as he makes his way back to his room. The invitation is still there, on his desk, Zayn looking at it briefly before he changes into jeans and a shirt. 

Liam’s at the table as he walks into the kitchen, Harry cooking something or other. Zayn takes a bagel from the fridge and puts it into the toaster.

“So about tonight —” Harry begins, sounding very much excited. “I was thinking we’d leave a little before seven, since it starts at seven thirty. Louis said to be early for this sort of thing.”

Zayn doesn’t look up, instead he’s got both hands braced on the edge of the counter as he takes in a deep breath.

“I um — don’t think I’m going to go, actually,” he says slowly.

It’s quiet for a few moments, which Zayn expected, as he waits for Harry to say something. But it’s Liam who talks first, surprisingly, making a face from his chair.

“What? Why?”

Harry’s watching him, Zayn shrugging as he starts putting some cream cheese onto his bagel. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says.

“That’s a fucking stupid reason,” Harry says, now looking angry as Zayn glances over toward him. 

“How is it stupid? It’s better this way,” Zayn says.

“No, it’s not. You’re being a fucking coward,” Harry says, putting his eggs onto his plate.

“Harry —” Liam starts, but Harry shakes his head.

“Thanks for the support, H,” Zayn says, tipping his glass of orange juice toward Harry.

“That’s not even a _reason_ ,” Harry continues, forehead creased in anger. 

“You can’t tell me what it is and isn’t,” Zayn snaps. “You can go, have a good time, and I’m going to stay home.”

Harry’s still furious, but doesn’t say anything, if only because Liam’s still giving him a look from across the kitchen. Harry sits at the table, slumping in his chair. 

Zayn doesn’t say anything else, isn’t sure what else there is to say as he makes his way out of the kitchen and back into his room, closing the door behind him and sliding to the floor.

— 

And, true to his word, by the time seven rolls around he isn’t ready — instead, he’s sitting at his desk after just talking to his mom, sketchpad in front of him as he stares at the blank page. 

He’s spent a better part of his day watching Breaking Bad, sitting on his bed and eating Liam’s stash of potato chips from the cupboard. 

He briefly debated going a few hours ago, even opened his closet to see if he had anything to wear. The answer was no, he didn’t, the only suit he owns is too small for him — which he took as a sign that maybe he shouldn’t go.

He puts down his pen a few moments later when there’s a knock on his door. It opens to Harry looking at his feet.

“So, I’m um — sorry, for being a prick earlier,” Harry starts.

Zayn smiles a little, leaning back in his chair. “Liam make you say that?” he asks.

“Possibly. But I still mean it,” Harry insists. 

“You look nice,” Zayn says. He’s all dressed up in a suit — hair slicked back, like he’s taken to wearing it lately. Harry shrugs. “You know how Louis likes you in a suit,” he adds, winking.

“Christ,” Harry replies, blushing noticeably as he rolls his eyes. “He does not.”

“He does too, and you know it,” Zayn says. Harry laughs quietly.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Harry starts again, hands folded behind his back. “I just — I mean, if you’ve changed your mind, I’ve got an extra suit you could borrow, if you want.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything for a moment, considering. He rubs a hand along his face, exhaling, then shakes his head finally. “I don’t think I can, Harry,” he says.

Harry frowns, just a little, shifting his weight. “Well, I just — thought I’d check.”

Liam appears in the doorway a few moments later, adjusting his own tie. “Any luck?” he asks Harry.

“No,” Harry says, trying not to sound disappointed. It’s not working.

“Ah, well. We figured he would, wouldn’t we?” Liam replies.

“I am _right here_ , need I remind you,” Zayn says, giving the two of them a look.

Liam just smiles, eyes crinkling as Zayn rolls his eyes. “Alright — we should go, then. We’ll see you when we get home?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Zayn says. “Might go out and get some food in a bit, though.”

“Don’t have too much fun, you hear?” Harry says, pulling Zayn into a hug as he stands. 

“I’ll try,” Zayn replies, smiling a little as he hugs Liam next.

They both give him one last wave before going, the sounds of their footsteps going out the door as Zayn sits back in his chair, sighing.

And that’s that, then, he thinks to himself as he looks around his room. It’s so strange, being in here now, because there’s so many parts of it that have something to do with Niall — his presence is nearly inescapable. 

His phone buzzes from his desk. Zayn checks, seeing a text from Louis.

_i’ll steal you some dessert, yeah? ;)_

_always knew u were my favourite_ Zayn replies.

_kinda wish you were coming, though :( now i’m going to be surrounded by all these stuffy, old people without you to mock them with_

_next time_ Zayn texts back, putting his phone down. He starts to pace his room.

Their air conditioning is _still_ broken, their landlord still not having fixed it and, quite frankly, it’s “hot as fucking balls outside”, as Louis so eloquently put it the other weekend he’d been over. Which, Zayn has to say, he agrees with.

He goes into the kitchen, putting on the kettle as he takes a tea bag out of the cupboard. 

God, he feels weird. He hates it, whatever this is, unable to shake it off as he taps his finger against the countertop impatiently. 

When his water’s finally boiled he pours it into his mug, making his way back into his room. He pauses by his desk again, eyeing the invitation. 

“You made up your mind already,” Zayn tells himself as he reaches for it, apparently ignoring his own advice as he picks it up.

He takes out the paper again, staring at it, until he hears something fall to the ground. Zayn stops, looking to see a small, neatly folded bit of paper by his feet as he bends down to pick it up.

 _Zayn_ it reads, in that same, messy writing he knows so fucking well. He blinks, finding himself slowly opening it — though he hasn’t a fucking clue what it is.

_Hi, so, it’s me. Niall. Or — James, I guess._

_I know this invitation seems ridiculous; very formal, and unlike me, but I thought I’d send it to you anyway. Because I lied to you, I_ know _that, and I’m so fucking sorry about all of this. God, it was like I finally had someone in my life and things were going well and the universe was fucking like “oh look, Niall’s happy, better fucking change that, shouldn’t we?”_

_That’s probably a bad way to put it, I’m sorry. But I just — I want to try and explain it to you, I guess. And we all know how fucking terrible I am with words._

_Because when I was with you, it was like being a Prince, royalty, all of that, it didn’t matter. It’s not like I hate being a Prince, or anything, but it’s just — when I’m with you, it’s like that part of my life doesn’t define me, which I love. I’m just Niall Horan, boyfriend extraordinaire (don’t laugh I know you’re gonna fucking laugh); who makes terrible blueberry pancakes and has an annoying habit of using your hair products when I stay the night because I can never remember to bring mine._

_And I was going to tell you, I promise I was. But there was never a right moment to just — sort of, come out with it, I guess. There’s no section in the boyfriend manual about ‘how to tell him you’re a Prince of Ireland’, which is a bit rude, to be honest. (Though there is a bit about what to do if your partner snores, which was rather helpful) —_

“I don’t fucking snore,” Zayn says to no one in particular.

_So I mean, if you’re willing to make this work — ‘Princley’ (Louis says that isn’t a word but I say fuck it, it’s a word now) duties and all, then so am I. Because in this really big, strange, crazy world, you’re the only person for me, really._

_Hope to see you soon._

_All my love,  
Niall._

“Fuck,” Zayn breathes out, shaking his head. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

Looks like he’s going to a fucking ball.

— 

He doesn’t bother changing — because he’s super fucking late already, he doesn’t have a lot of time to change into anything. And as he glances outside he nearly groans, seeing as it’s raining. He takes his jacket from the hanger beside the door as he grabs his keys and jogs down the stairs. 

It’s a twenty minute walk according to his phone and the rain is pouring down as he starts off down the street. 

He could get a cab, which he can’t afford, so walking is the only alternative — his entire body nearly soaked after just a few minutes. Somewhere along the way he gets lost and has to run into a gas station and ask where he’s going. He thanks them when they point him in the right direction, jogging back out into the rain. 

The hotel is huge and there are cars parked out all along the street. Zayn approaches with more than a little trepidation.

“I’m sorry — do you have an invitation?” one of the men standing outside the double doors asks after he’s left staring for a moment too long. 

“Uh — yeah, actually —” Zayn says, fumbling around to get it out of his jacket pocket, nearly dropping his phone when he pulls it out. 

The man looks at Zayn, eyebrows raised before he looks at the paper. He shrugs to the guy beside him before he opens the door. “Enjoy yourself, Mr. Malik,” he says.

Zayn nods, thanking him before he steps inside — very aware of how wet he is, his boots squeaking as he looks for the the ballroom. He pauses in the doorway, nerves gripping his chest as he takes in a slow, deep breath. 

Harry, Louis, and Liam are standing off to one end — drinking fancy drinks, chatting with one another. Zayn keeps looking, stopping when he finally finds Niall, near the front of the room.

He’s talking to a man Zayn knows to be his brother Greg, and a number of older people Zayn doesn’t recognize. He forces himself to take a step forward. People are staring at him at this point, a soaking wet man walking into a very fancy event but Zayn doesn’t think about them — just focuses on Niall, who’s laughing at something someone said, cheeks flushed.

It’s only a few moments until he’s approaching Niall, who finally catches sight of Zayn. He pauses, mid sentence, looking over at him with wide eyes — his face breaking out into that grin Zayn knows so well.

“Zayn?” Niall says, sounding mostly in disbelief. “What are you —”

Zayn cuts him off, putting his still wet, still cold hands on Niall’s cheeks and kissing him, right there, in the middle of this fucking ballroom. Niall kisses him back, hands gripping Zayn’s waist and tasting like strawberries and champagne and just — Niall. Just how Zayn remembers him. 

Niall’s breathing heavily when they pull apart, Zayn leaning his forehead against Niall’s, pressing his nose up against his own.

“So. I’m a little late,” Zayn says, almost in a whisper.

Niall laughs in response, shaking his head. “You know what they say, though,” he tells Zayn, hands still on his waist, unmoving. 

“I don’t, actually. Would you care to share with the class?” Zayn asks.

“Better late than never,” Niall responds, before he leans in to kiss Zayn again — Harry’s unmistakable whooping coming from the other end of the room.

 

After a few moments Niall excuses the two of them, leading Zayn upstairs to “get a change of clothes”, which, Zayn isn’t going to argue with. He’s shivering by the time they get to another room, the sounds of music and chatter being nearly silenced when Niall closes the door. 

“You’re completely soaked,” Niall says. “What — did you walk here?”

“I did, actually,” Zayn replies. Niall smiles, moving to get a change of clothes from the cupboard at one end of the room.

“You’re gonna get sick, you idiot,” Niall tells him, somehow affectionately, as he hands Zayn a pair of dress pants a button up shirt. “I’ll be waiting outside,” he adds, opening the door and stepping out as Zayn starts to strip the wet clothes from his body.

It takes a few minutes, leaving his clothes in a pile in the bathroom, checking his hair and doing what little he can before he goes back outside — finding Niall leaning against the door, waiting patiently. 

He looks up, smiling again as Zayn takes a step toward him, not so subtly pressing Niall’s back up against the wall as he puts a gentle hand on the back of Niall’s neck. 

“We have — guests,” Niall manages to get out, breathing heavily as Zayn shrugs.

“They can wait a few minutes, right?” Zayn asks. And when Niall doesn’t argue he leans forward, kissing him. 

Niall kisses Zayn back, groaning quietly when Zayn slots a leg between his, running his thumb gently along Niall’s jawline. 

After a few minutes Niall insists they go back downstairs, promising that they can “continue this later” as he intertwines Zayn’s fingers with his own as they start down the stairs.

“You’re such a fake,” is the first thing Louis says as they approach the three of them.

“Just needed a bit more extra time to get ready is all,” Zayn argues, Harry snorting where he’s got his face pressed into Louis’ shoulder.

“And we know how much you love to make an entrance,” Harry teases, grinning, as Liam laughs. 

“I have to introduce him to my family but we’ll be back, yeah?” Niall asks, tugging Zayn along with him.

“Easy there, Ni,” Louis says. “Don’t grip him so tight, it’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

Niall blushes, making a small sound as he loosens his grip on Zayn’s wrist, just a little. “Sorry,” he mumbles, but Zayn just shakes his head.

“It’s fine,” he assures him, gently. “But Louis is right, you know.”

Niall doesn’t have a chance to respond, just gives Zayn a small, assured smile as he approaches a few people. He soon learns they’re Niall’s mother, and father, along with a few uncles and aunts as Zayn shakes all their hands — saying his hellos.

(“My goodness, he _is_ handsome, isn’t he?” his mom says, holding Zayn’s hand for a few moments longer than necessary.

“Mum, don’t — oh my God,” Niall groans, but Zayn just laughs.)

Little Theo is next, along with Greg and Denise. Niall balances the little boy on his hip easily, raising his small, tiny hand to wave at Zayn.

“Hi, Zayn,” Niall says, raising the pitch of his voice to make it seem like it’s Theo talking now.

Zayn smiles, holding a hand to wave back as Theo immediately reaches out — grabbing one of Zayn’s fingers in his hand. 

“He likes you,” Niall says, nodding.

Zayn doesn’t say anything, just lets Theo hold onto his finger as he listens to Niall talk to him in a hushed voice.

He meets a few more people, Niall always at his side as he tells Zayn their names, formalities being exchanged soon after as Zayn tugs on the collar of his shirt, undoing one button.

Niall, seeming to get the hint, motions toward one of the doors at the back as Zayn nods, the two walking toward it. It’s not raining anymore, the ground still wet as they walk through the gardens.

He pauses after a few steps, a good distance from the building as he turns, watching Niall as he approaches him now.

“Tired already?” Niall teases, stopping when he’s in front of Zayn. 

Zayn doesn’t say anything, just reaches for one of Niall’s hands where it’s in the pocket of his pants. Niall just follows, lets Zayn play with his fingers gently as he tries to calm himself down.

“I have to say something,” Zayn tells him, swallowing.

Niall only looks slightly worried as he waits for Zayn to continue, squeezing his hand gently in response. 

“I love you,” Zayn starts, letting out a slow, shaky breath. “And I was mad — but I also didn’t think past that anger, to see why you had done what you did. And it’s not — it wasn’t the greatest, these past few weeks but I want you to know I’m not going anywhere, Ni. I promise.”

Niall blinks, and if Zayn didn’t know any better he was about to cry, standing there. “Read my letter, did you?”

“I did,” Zayn says. “And I do have an issue I’d like to discuss with it. Mainly that I do _not_ snore.”

Niall’s smiling now, shaking his head as Zayn pulls him closer now. “This is very serious, Niall,” Zayn adds.

“Oh my God, shut _up_ , you idiot —” Niall says before he kisses Zayn, cutting himself off.

“If you two are quite finished —” Louis’ voice comes from the doorway, loudly. “We have a ball to get back to, if you don’t mind.”

“Louis — leave them alone what are you doing, you lunatic —” Liam’s voice comes, practically having to drag Louis back inside as Zayn laughs, burying his face into Niall’s neck.

“Before we go back inside,” Niall starts, “I just — want to hear you say that again.”

“Say what again?” Zayn asks, confused.

“That very first thing you said. Three words, not a really big deal,” Niall says, shrugging.

“I love you,” Zayn repeats, pressing his lips to Niall’s forehead. 

“One more time, maybe, I didn’t quite catch it,” Niall says after a moment.

Zayn rolls his eyes, watching as Niall looks up at him expectantly. “I love you,” he says gently, pressing his lips to his temple. 

“Swear to God, I’m going to come out there with a hose to separate you two —” Louis’ voice comes again, Niall shaking his head as they start back toward the door. He grips Zayn’s hand tight, almost like a promise.

 _I love you too_.

 

 

epilogue.

“I think we’re lost.”

They’re standing in the middle of a really fucking big foyer, Zayn’s voice echoing as he looks over at Louis.

Louis scowls at him, shaking his head. “I’ve been here a handful of times, I know exactly where we are,” he says.

Zayn, not entirely convinced, leaves his bags where Louis instructs — just near the front door as they step further inside. It doesn’t seem to get any smaller; in fact, it seems to get _bigger_ , if that’s even possible. Zayn puts his hands into his pockets, a bit wary of breaking any of the decorative items along the way as they keep walking.

“Shouldn’t he be around?” Zayn asks.

“Yes, well, unfortunately Princes have things to do,” Louis says. “Shouldn’t be that hard to find him, I mean, how big can this place be? It’s just a summer home.”

Zayn makes a face, but doesn’t argue the subject because Louis seems pretty determined. He follows along, feeling terribly out of place the entire way.

Niall’s told him countless times that he won’t be a bother, he won’t be a pain, and that Niall just _wants Zayn there with him_. While that’s all well and good, Zayn can’t help but feel a little strange about it now that he’s here, walking down the big hallway and biting the inside of his cheek. 

It’s been almost two months since Zayn’s seen Niall,since he had to come back to Ireland. And if Zayn’s honest — he misses him. Then again, Harry tells him that everytime he sees him, giving a sympathetic pat on the back. “You’ll see him soon, right?” he’d tell Zayn, grinning.

And now, here he is. After lots of fussing and arguing, Niall finally got his way and paid for Zayn’s flight, if only because Louis was also coming now — which made it easier to make the decision.

“Is it always like this here?” Zayn asks. Louis turns to look at him.

“What do you mean, clean?” he asks, but Zayn shakes his head.

“No, I mean like — quiet, like this. Dunno, seems creepy,” Zayn says.

Louis smirks, rolling his eyes. “You’re lucky, Malik. This is calm and serene as opposed to how it usually is.”

Zayn doesn’t question it, instead glances at the walls — paintings of people he doesn’t know, stretching across and down the walls as far as he can see.

“God,” Louis says, breaking the silence. “I’m fucking starving.”

“I’m sure there’s food here,” Zayn deadpans. Louis gives him a look.

“Yes, you’re very helpful,” Louis says, but he’s smiling. 

The flight had been long, Zayn’s legs cramped by the end of it when they’d landed — the whole eight hours taking its toll on him as he’d gotten off the plane. 

Louis had insisted Niall didn’t need to come get them, don’t want to be a hassle or anything, and Zayn’s possibly regretting that now; there’s still no sign of Niall, or food, or a bed, for that matter.

“Any luck?” Zayn asks as Louis walks to the end of the hallway, peering around the corner. 

“No,” Louis responds. “Did find the kitchens, though, so. Food, right?”

Zayn pauses, not sure about the idea as he follows Louis through the doors.

There’s a number of people running around the kitchen, steam and voices carrying through. It’s hectic and loud and reminds Zayn of the diner; if the diner was posher, with more stainless steel and less screaming Nick. It’s the kind of place Zayn had left America hoping to avoid, if he’s honest.

“Maybe we should — go,” Zayn suggests. Louis nods as they take a step back until —

“Oi, are you two the new helpers?”

They turn to see an older man approaching them, wearing a billowing white apron and holding a rather big knife, Zayn thinks, eyes widening.

“We’re um, actually —” Louis starts, but he’s cut off.

“Well, then get to work, will you? We don’t need you all standing around and getting in the way,” the man orders.

He points to Louis first, with the knife. “You, go help Daniella chop those vegetables for the spring salad. And you —” he motions to Zayn now, knife wavering dangerously. “Go help Jerry garnish the chicken, you hear me?”

Zayn goes, if only because the man before him is holding a scaled down meat cleaver. His cheeks turn bright red as him and Louis are both tossed an apron to put on. 

He doesn’t know the first thing about garnishing anything, let alone chicken — and judging by the way Louis is staring at the vegetables, he doesn’t know the first thing about chopping them. Which is great, Zayn thinks to himself as he goes to stand beside Jerry, apparently, who gives Zayn a small smile.

He’s handed a small jar of some kind of herb he doesn’t know the name of and ordered to sprinkle it over the chicken — much like what Jerry is doing on the other side of the table. Zayn follows his lead. 

“We put a layer of melted butter on next,” Jerry tells him, and, possibly noticing how terrified Zayn looks, he pauses. “Are you alright, mate? You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“Fine,” Zayn answers quickly, picking up a wooden brush in a bowl of what he assumes is melted butter. He lifts it up slowly.

He looks over to see Louis with Daniella, holding a pair of sharp knives and looking very uncertain about it. 

The chicken goes in the oven and then Zayn’s in charge of the mashed potatoes and, between the two, he’s not sure when he’s supposed to point out that he’s not meant to be here.

“I’m going to chop off my fucking hand. We have to get out of here,” Louis hisses as he passes by, holding a bowl of diced vegetables and nearly tripping over his two feet as he goes. 

Zayn doesn’t see the large man with the knife anymore, so maybe they could make a break for it. Except the kitchen’s a madhouse and he can’t even see the way out anymore.

He turns to find Jerry, who runs him through how to mash potatoes. The smell of garlic assaults Zayn’s nose as he winces, watching him as he mashes everything altogether. Louis looks desperate now, rinsing a pepper and being shown how to properly run dishes through the massive dishwasher. 

“Zayn? What the hell are you doing?”

Truthfully, Zayn has never been more relieved to see his boyfriend then he is now. Niall’s standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking extremely confused. 

“Oh, thank fuck, it’s you,” Louis says, dropping the pepper he’s holding in the sink, Daniella letting out a small gasp at his language. “I could kiss you for coming, honestly.”

“Please don’t,” Zayn says first, glancing at Louis, before adding, “we got confused for your new help, I think,” he mutters. Niall takes a few steps toward him, grinning impossibly big as he stops at the other side of the table, leaning both his hands against it.

“Prince James —” the large, knife-wielding man comes into view now, eyes wide. “Is there a problem?”

“What? No — no, everything’s fine, Jimmy,” Niall assures him. “But it seems you’ve tied up my friends.”

“Oh, I didn’t know —” Jimmy starts but Niall shakes his head.

“It’s fine,” Niall says, shrugging. “You can keep that one though, if you want,” he adds, motioning to Louis. 

Zayn laughs, shaking his head as he goes to stand by Louis. They wait for Niall as he chats up the kitchen staff. Louis’ hands are red from the pepper juice; he scrunches his face at them. 

“You two sure you don’t wanna stay? Jimmy’s pretty attached to you, I think,” Niall says, smirking at Zayn. “Plus — I mean, you look good in aprons, so.”

“That’s enough out of you,” Louis says. “Just because you’re a prince and all doesn’t mean I can’t deck you.”

Niall laughs as they step out into the hallway again, walking down to get their bags. Niall walks beside Zayn — not so subtly brushing his fingers against his arm as they go. Zayn intertwines their fingers; he’s missed Niall too much to care what Louis is going to say on the subject.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were here?” Niall asks as they find their stuff in the front lobby, tucked away behind a gigantic potted plant.

“Wanted to surprise you. Show you I still remembered my way around this place,” Louis says.

“Yes, well. That went well, didn’t it?” Niall teases, pointedly ignoring Louis’ scowl.

Niall takes one of Zayn’s bags, the three of them walking down the hallway. Niall talks most of the way — rambling on about the paintings and their history, pointing out helpful places like the kitchen, (“Found that already, but thanks,” Louis mumbles. Niall ignores him.) and the library, along with Niall’s study.

Their rooms are up the stairs, down yet another hallway and honestly, Zayn thinks, he’s not going to be able to get anywhere without getting lost. At least, they weren’t invited to stay over at the Palace in Dublin, the royal residence in Mullingar is big enough that Louis shouldn’t be able to do too much damage in it.

“I’m going to — er — leave you two be,” Louis says before going into his own room, shutting the door behind him. Zayn blushes, rolling his eyes as Niall follows after him.

Zayn hardly gets two steps through the door, however, before Niall’s pressing him up against the door — kissing him roughly and fuck, okay, Zayn thinks as he inhales sharply.

“Aren’t we having dinner soon?” Zayn asks, and Niall nods, but doesn’t stop kissing him as he runs a gentle hand along his arm slowly.

“We can skip dinner? Maybe?” Niall suggests.

“Your mom would kill us,” Zayn says. “Literally. She would come in here and hang us, or something.”

“You’ve been — listening to Louis, too much,” Niall huffs, biting down on Zayn’s lower lip.

Zayn laughs, cupping Niall’s cheeks in his hands. “I missed you,” he says, breathless.

“Fuck,” Niall says. “I missed you too — you idiot.”

Zayn’s nearly half hard in his jeans already as he takes a step back. Niall whines when he holds out an arm — keeping the distance between them. “No — no. We can’t get started now or I’ll —” he pauses, possibly enjoying a bit too much the redness in Niall’s cheeks, “we can’t. God, it’s been too long, hasn’t it?”

Niall groans, likely in agreement, leaning his head back against the door. He sighs, loudly. 

“So, dinner’s in — ten minutes? If you wanna go down now?” Niall asks, still slightly out of breath as Zayn nods, taking a sweater out of his suitcase. 

Louis joins them a few minutes later, the three of them heading to the dining hall.

And it’s nice, and more normal than Zayn had imagined, sitting with Niall’s family and having a three-course, chef-prepared meal. His mom asks how their flight was and offers them more food than they can stomach because “they’re too skinny” and Zayn laughs every time Niall puts his face in his hands in response. 

— 

Once dinner’s over, Louis informs them that Harry and Liam want to skype the three of them, as they make their way back upstairs. 

“Can you hear me?” Harry’s voice comes a few minutes later, voice breaking up only slightly through the poor speaker quality.

“Yes,” Louis says, wincing. “No need to shout, Harold.”

Liam’s beside Harry on the couch in Zayn’s apartment. Zayn smiles, a little, feeling a small pang in his chest because he misses them.

“So you guys made it okay?” Liam asks.

Niall’s got Zayn’s hand in his lap, unseen where they’re sitting. He runs his thumb over Zayn’s wrist bone lightly.

“Did, yeah. We were hired to help in the kitchens for an hour though, before Niall came to our rescue,” Louis says.

Liam blinks, confused, as Harry opens his mouth. “Hang on —” he says, stopping for a moment. “That’s like, not safe. Having Louis in a kitchen cooking for a royal family?”

“Shut it. I’ll have you know Daniella thinks I’m an _excellent_ vegetable cutter. Claimed I was, and this is a direct quote, ‘very good with my hands.’”

Zayn snorts, Niall holding back a laugh. Harry bursts out laughing, Liam shaking his head beside him.

“You know, that is actually true, if I’m honest,” Harry says.

“Enough,” Zayn says, sternly, holding up a hand.

“Right, well, that aside,” Liam continues, clearing his throat. “How’s everything else? Alright?”

“It’s good,” Zayn speaks up now, Harry seemingly having quieted down as he smirks. “Should sleep soon, though.”

“Must be tired,” Liam says, smiling a little.

“How’s work? Did Nick burn down the place yet?” Louis asks, leaning back a bit.

“Not yet. Went in yesterday, Calum was working with Jesy,” Harry answers, shrugging. “Everything seemed intact and not — you know, on fire.”

Louis nods, talking for a few more minutes before Harry shifts — looking at the time.

“We should let you all go, though,” Liam says, noticing Louis yawning for the third time in the span of a few minutes.

“Not tired,” Louis argues.

“The bags under your eyes say otherwise,” Harry teases, grinning only wider when Louis flips him off in response. 

They say their farewells, Harry giving a final wave as they disconnect the call — the screen going blank as Louis closes his laptop, tucking it under his arm. 

“I’ll see you both tomorrow then,” he says, winking at them. “Night.”

“Night, Lou,” he and Niall after him, the door closing as Zayn leans back on his bed — hands behind his head as he looks over at Niall who’s sitting, moving to face him.

“We should probably sleep,” Niall says slowly.

“Probably,” Zayn agrees, pressing his thumb against the bone of Niall’s ankle. “Or we could — I don’t know.”

Niall’s eyebrows raise in a silent question. “ _Ooooh_ ,” he sing-songs, moving his hips ridiculously. “Intriguing,” he says.

Zayn smirks, shaking his head. “You’ve been reading a dictionary, haven’t you?” he teases.

“Only to impress you with my vastly extensive princely knowledge,” Niall says, as if this should be obvious.

Zayn rolls his eyes, but doesn’t complain as Niall crawls toward him across the mattress — pressing Zayn back lightly against the pillows. He kisses him, gently.

“Better than sleeping,” Zayn says, Niall hums in agreement as he licks into Zayn’s mouth.

Niall makes quick work of getting Zayn’s shirt off, immediately sucking the skin of his collarbone when he gets the chance — his hands warm as Zayn tugs on the hem of his own shirt now. Niall complies easily — the shirt coming off his head as Zayn tosses it onto the floor.

It’s like nothing’s changed. Not with Niall, anyway, who still makes the same, quiet noises as Zayn kisses the side of his neck, sucking lightly on the skin behind his ear as he feels Niall shiver in response. Still Niall, who is rather impatiently at getting the two of them undressed — gently helping Zayn get his pants off, doing the same a few moments later before he laughs, breathless, as Zayn kisses him again.

He feels Niall trace his favourite tattoo’s on Zayn’s skin. His chest piece, a careful fingertip tracing the lips — another along the ZAP! on his forearm, always with the same, concentrated expression. 

Zayn leans forward, just a bit, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to Niall’s knee — for a few moments before he goes up along Niall’s stomach, rather enjoying the way Niall’s stifles his laugh when he does. 

“Still ticklish then?” Zayn asks, breath fanning across Niall’s chest as he squirms in response.

“It would appear so,” Niall huffs, but when Zayn presses his mouth to Niall’s hard cock through his boxers Niall lets out a quiet moan, leaning his head back.

“I’ll make it up to you, then,” Zayn says, gentle hands on Niall’s thighs as he presses a kiss to his hip bone, letting his lips linger there as he works off Niall’s boxers.

“ _God_ ,” Niall manages to get out, hips rocking up into Zayn’s hand as he strokes once, twice, rather enjoying the way Niall’s flush goes down to his chest now.

Zayn grins before he pauses — getting an idea. Niall blinks at him, shaking his head. “What are you doing —” he asks as Zayn sits up, pressing a kiss to Niall’s forehead.

“I’ll just be right back,” he promises, Niall letting out a small whine as he goes to his bag, quickly locating the bottle of lube he’s brought with, just in case.

(“God, really?” Louis asked when he’d seen it, making a face. “Good thing I brought my earplugs, then,” he’d added, laughing, even when Zayn smacked the back of his head.)

“Zayn,” Niall says when he gets back to the bed. His cock is flushed, hard against his stomach as Zayn presses a kiss to his lips briefly before opening the lid, pouring some lube onto his fingers.

Niall responds nearly right away when Zayn’s barely got his finger inside him, rocking onto it as Zayn takes in a slow, deep breath.

He soon pushes the first one in all the way, Niall biting the back of his hand to keep quiet. So Zayn continues, working up a rhythm — adding a second finger as Niall rocks back onto them, breathing heavily as Zayn presses a kiss to his temple.

By the third one Niall’s almost desperate for him now — clenching around Zayn’s fingers and muttering incoherently as Zayn pulls out, slowly.

“Alright — alright, hold on,” Zayn tells him gently, opening the condom and slicking himself up — Niall whining quietly in front of him.

He brushes the head of his cock over Niall’s hole, who takes in a sharp breath — his one hand on Zayn’s arm tightening.

“Good?” Zayn asks. Niall nods in response.

So he pushes in, Niall’s mouth open in what looks to be something similar to bliss — bringing Zayn’s mouth down to kiss him. Zayn kisses him back, pulling out before he pushes back in again — trying to work up to a steady rhythm. 

He loves Niall like this; spread out, babbling, and his skin is so, so warm to the touch Zayn can’t seem to stop his hands from going every which way.

He gets faster then, Niall’s head tipping back as he tugs on Zayn’s hair gently — signifying he’s close.

Niall comes a few moments later all over his stomach, Zayn not too long after him — removing his condom and putting it into the garbage. After that he nearly collapses onto Niall, biting his neck lightly.

“So heavy,” Niall teases. “Can’t breathe.”

Zayn laughs, pressing a kiss to Niall’s lips as he goes into the bathroom — getting a wet flannel to clean themselves up with, not needing to worry about showering until tomorrow as he crawls back into bed where Niall looks almost asleep.

“Hey,” Niall says, wrapping an arm around Zayn’s waist and pulling him close.

“Hi,” Zayn parrots back, nosing along Niall’s hairline.

They don’t say much else after that, Niall drifting off to sleep easily as Zayn presses a kiss to the top of his head lightly — eyes closing a few moments later.

— 

The next day they take the grand tour of Mullingar, Niall explaining and Louis adding unhelpful comments from the back seat. But it’s nice, Zayn decides — putting the pieces of where Niall grew up, hearing him talk about places that mean a lot to him.

By the time they get back Zayn’s near exhaustion, having to keep himself awake all through dinner — Louis not doing so well beside him either before they start up toward their rooms.

“So I was thinking…” Niall trails off when they get into his room, closing the door behind them. 

“This can’t be good,” Zayn says, taking off his shirt as he gets into bed.

“Well I just — thought we could go golfing?”

Zayn pauses, looking up where his head’s resting on the pillow at Niall. “I’m sorry?” he asks.

“Just — Thursday morning,” Niall continues, now sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t golf,” Zayn says.

“We start at seven,” Niall says. “It’s all set up.”

Zayn groans, burying his head under the covers. “I don’t golf,” he repeats. “Especially not at seven in the fucking morning.”

He doesn’t have to look to know Niall’s pouting as Zayn sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Alright,” he mutters in defeat. “I’ll go golfing with you.”

He’s going to regret this, he just knows it.

— 

The next two days are filled with some tours, some relaxing, and mostly just being with Niall. They skype Liam and Harry again, Harry promising to come on a plane over there if they’re having too much fun without him.

However, when Thursday morning rolls around, Zayn refuses to get out of bed.

“What time is it,” he mumbles when Niall shakes him gently.

“Six fifteen,” Niall answers.

Zayn blinks awake, opening his eyes slowly to see Niall already dressed in the proper golf attire, looking at Zayn expectantly. 

“I changed my mind,” Zayn says, pulling his blanket up over his head again.

“No way,” Niall protests, “you’re not getting out of it this easily.”

It’s at least five more minutes until Niall gets Zayn to leave his bed, shuffling to the bathroom and getting into the shower — being handed a polo and golf pants by Niall before he goes inside.

“Golf pants?” Zayn asks, confused.

“Just go,” Niall says, closing the bathroom door behind him.

They make to the golf course just before seven — a few other groups of people walking inside as Niall hands Zayn his golf clubs, apparently. 

By the time they make it out onto the actual golf course they first spend at least ten minutes with Niall explaining the different clubs to Zayn, though truthfully, they still don’t make any sense to him where he’s standing.

But he listens, watching the way Niall concentrates as he goes to swing — sending the ball straight into the air. 

“Should be easy,” Zayn deadpans, kicking at the grass.

Niall gives him a light pat on the back, which is hardly reassuring when Zayn does, actually, hit the golf ball. It doesn’t go far — just a couple of feet ahead of him as Zayn shakes his head, running a hand through his hair.

 

And so it goes on like this, throughout most of the morning — Niall keeps a straight face, only laughing once, when Zayn had sent a patch of grass into the air, missing the ball entirely.

“So. Maybe not golf,” Niall says as they walk back to the car.

Zayn nods, laughing as he nudges Niall’s hip with his own. “I thought I did pretty well, actually,” Zayn responds, loading the clubs into the trunk.

 

Niall’s pretty quiet for the rest of the day, which is unusual, Zayn thinks — but doesn’t try to read too much into it. 

Dinner’s a little louder than usual, Theo joining them with Denise and Greg — refusing to eat unless Niall sits beside him and makes loud, plane noises before putting the spoon into his mouth. 

Zayn pretends not to be endeared, but the sickened expression on Louis’ face tells him otherwise as he kicks at Zayn’s leg underneath the table.

As usual after dinner Louis disappears upstairs, claiming he “has a headache and would prefer not to be bothered” as he goes up the stairs.

Niall doesn’t bothered, though, as he glances over at Zayn — “wanna go for a walk, maybe?” he asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Zayn says, following him to one of the doors leading out to the gardens. 

It’s nice out, the air warm as Zayn feels Niall press up against his side. Niall’s tense beside him, but Zayn doesn’t question it — just keeps his hands in his pockets as he walks along in silence.

The sky is clear tonight, stars prominent as Zayn watches Niall lead them to a small bench, just off to the side of the back door.

“I did — bring you out here for a reason,” Niall starts, glancing toward him now.

Zayn pauses. “Care to elaborate?” he asks.

Niall takes in a deep breath, shifting his weight from one foot to the other before he speaks again. 

“We’ve been dating what, three years?” Niall asks.

“Almost four now, I think. Excluding that bit where we — weren’t dating,” Zayn replies before adding, “if you’re going to break up with me right now that’ll be really shitty, Ni.”

Niall laughs nervously, shaking his head. “No — no, just — listen. Okay?”

Zayn does, not making any effort to sit as he instead watches Niall closely. “We’re like — twenty four,” he says, “and — well, twenty-five for you, I guess.”

“What are you getting at, Niall,” Zayn presses. “You’re freaking me out.”

Niall waves a hand around, as if trying to collect himself as he looks at Zayn again. 

“I just — I realized something, the other day. Or, not the other day — it was a while ago, actually. We were in your room, one Saturday morning — weren’t really doing much of anything. You were painting and I was on your bed, watching you probably,” Niall begins. Zayn can recall that day, if only because he’s got that painting of Niall still in his room, hanging above his desk. “And that’s when I knew.”

Zayn’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t say anything, so Niall barrels on. 

“There’s no one else for me, and, fuck, I know — I _know_ that this is corny, or cheesy. Harry said it was going to be like a Love Actually moment, and Liam told me it was going to have to be cheesy, that there was no escaping it. But I just — don’t know how else to say it.”

Zayn’s _this_ close to ripping his hair out. “Ask me what, Niall, for Christ’s sake —”

And that’s when Niall gets down on one knee, and that’s when Zayn’s sure he isn’t breathing anymore — eyes widening as he’s sure he’s dreaming this, because that’s no way this is about to actually, honestly, _happen_.

“Oh my God,” Zayn breathes out.

“But all corniness aside,” Niall continues, taking a small, black box out of his pocket. “I just thought I would ask if you’d — you know.”

Zayn stares at him, nearly bursting out into laughter, or tears. He’s not sure which would happen, to be honest.

“Zayn Malik — will you, oh fuck —” Niall pauses, cheeks red and Zayn’s so, fucking, in love with him. “Will you marry me?”

And he knows the answer. Has known, he thinks, for a long time now — doesn’t have a moment to doubt it before he’s nodding, still not quite sure he’s breathing as he watches Niall stand.

“Yeah, Ni, fuck — yes. Yes, yes, _yes_ ,” Zayn says, words all somehow tumbling out at once. “I will marry you — of fucking course I will.”

Niall grins, kissing Zayn and he’s sure nothing will ever compare to this moment, not ever.

“Even when I’m old? And singing old Irish tunes from my rocking chair?” Niall asks, pulling away slightly.

“Yes, Niall — _God_ ,” Zayn answers, feeling Niall’s warm, still slightly sweaty hands on his face.

“And when we have a baby and it’s crying at five in the morning? And you don’t want to get out of bed? And we haven’t slept in days?” Niall asks.

“Do you want me to take back my answer?” Zayn asks.

Niall shakes his head, his face a mixture of disbelief and happiness, kissing Zayn again.

That is, until he hears Louis’ voice from coming from somewhere in the bushes. 

“Swear to God, that’s the most profanity-laced proposal I’ve ever heard,” he’s saying, holding up a camera as Zayn laughs, pulling Niall close and kissing him again — promptly giving Louis the finger while doing so.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on the world wide tumblr, come say [hello!](http://loueh.tumblr.com/)


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